


Crush

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Unrequited Love, because everyone is a bit dense, more like brief mentions to canon, some johnlock/mystrade but it's all in their heads, sort of, sort of canon compliant, the holmes are very bad at flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 20,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Holmes knows how to deal with a crush.</p><p>That might make interactions with said crushes a bit complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unwelcome crushes

**Author's Note:**

> So this… well. I wanted to go back to writing the sequel of “Long term complications of arranged marriages” that I always intended to write, but I just couldn’t get into the mood for it. Then I ended up reading a bit of Johncroft and figured I really wanted to write another Johncroft fic and well… this idea wouldn’t leave me alone, so I thought I would give it a shot. I must confess I don’t know what’s up with the Sherstrade but well… I do make a point of not questioning my inspiration.  
> Anyway, enough of my ramblings, enjoy?

Mycroft isn’t sure what to think about his brother’s latest attempt of ‘flirting’. By all means, he would think Sherlock is old enough to know better than to try to get his  _ crush’s _ attention by pulling his metaphorical pigtails, but then again Sherlock never got to experiment with actual crushes when he was five so… 

Still, he can tell that Detective Inspector Lestrade is as unamused by the interrupted press conference as any 5 year old girl would be at the pulling of her hair.

Sighing, the older Holmes turns off his surveillance cameras and leans back on his chair, thinking.

Something should be done about this whole mess before Sherlock manages to infuriate the DI to the point of the man never again inviting him to a crime scene. As saddened as his younger sibling might be by Lestrade’s rejection, he would be far more devastated if he was left with no more work forever more.

Not that Mycroft is certain of Lestrade’s lack of interest. The man is just a bit oblivious to Sherlock’s attempts of flirting (which are awkward at best, annoying at worst) and he’s married (never mind the wife is cheating on him  _ again _ ) so there’s that.

A pity that Sherlock has yet to understand that  _ caring is not advantage  _ and he’s better off on his own. If Mycroft had known that getting his brother off drugs would lead him into another (and probably far more dangerous) path, he might have-

No, scratch that. He prefers Sherlock’s judgement being impaired by oxytocin rather than by whatever artificial chemical he could get his hands on.

Still, what to do? His attempts at offering assistance or advice (not that he had much experience on the subject, to be honest) had been predictably refused, contempt evident on his brother’s face and tone. He has considered ‘kidnapping’ Lestrade and just  _ telling him _ what Sherlock is attempting, but has decided against it because it feels a bit like cheating. He believes he should let his sibling deal with this all on his own (it’s part of life, really, and Mycroft won’t be there forever to solve every trouble the younger man gets into) but the situation is rather desperate so…

He sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. It won’t be long before Lestrade calls Sherlock in for the ‘serial suicides’, so maybe he ought to wait until that particular case is solved. If no improvements are made during the case, then Mycroft will step in.

Having reached a decision, he turns his attention back to his work.

* * *

 

Now, this… this is an interesting development.

He had known Sherlock was planning on moving to Baker Street, even if he couldn’t quite afford to pay the rent: work has never been stable and Sherlock prefers to work with the police (well, with Lestrade) for which he doesn’t get pay, so while he earns some money from private cases and Mycroft makes sure he always has enough for his basic needs, it’s unlikely he’ll manage to pay Mrs. Hudson the full rent, even if she has offered him a discount.

Getting a flatmate would be a  _ logical practical  _ solution.

But since when does Sherlock do logical or practical?

John Watson seems an unremarkable man, incapable of holding his little brother’s interest for long. Kind of attractive, he guesses, but nothing extraordinary and considering Sherlock’s frankly worrying infatuation with a certain DI…

Oh. Might that be it? Is Sherlock attempting to get over his  _ crush  _ by finding someone else? It seems a bit… out of character, but so is wanting to share a flat, even if it’s only so he can afford the place, so-

He needs more data.

He orders a car to be ready and for Dr. Watson to be… ‘invited over’. He figures a face-to-face talk will be for the best: in paper John Watson is a very average man, but Sherlock has a tendency to find interesting people, so he’d like to see if that holds true this time.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he found, though.

* * *

 

Mycroft blames their parents for their awkwardness in social situations.

Being homeschooled until you were 13 would do that to you, he supposes; not interacting with other children until later in life makes things a bit complicated. He, however, has learned how to behave around other people and not end insulting all of them. He has learned to read people and use what he’s learnt to get his way, making him an excellent manipulator and a good diplomat. He knows what to say, how to say it and when to say it so he’ll always end up in top.

Except, apparently, when it comes to unfairly interesting ex army doctors.

As he goes over his encounter with Dr. Watson in his head, he can’t help blushing. He’s just as bad as Sherlock when dealing with this  _ stuff _ , isn’t he? God, he hopes he didn’t make such a fool of himself as his brother does in front of Lestrade on regular basis: that would be too much embarrassment for him to endure.

He’ll say this one positive thing about his brother, though: he has the most excellent taste in men.

That gives him pause. Is Sherlock interested in Dr. Watson? If that’s the case, Mycroft should step back  _ right now _ , because there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to beat his brother on this particular matter, not that he would be particularly interested on it. Sherlock deserves to be happy and more importantly, he needs someone willing to look after him, someone who’ll care for him and love him. Since things seem not to be working out with a certain DI, maybe his brother is really attempting to move on with the handsome doctor.

The older Holmes sighs. If that’s the case, he would hate to mess with Sherlock’s plans; their relationship is troublesome enough as it is. Besides, he can continue living on his own, but his younger sibling has always craved company.

Better to stop thinking of fearless army doctors, with steady hands and unbelievable beautiful eyes and-

Yes, no more thinking about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? It’s rather short and I’m not completely sure of where I’m going with this, not even if I’m going to continue it and if I’m sticking to just one POV if I do. That doesn’t really work for me, but well… it would make things so much simpler. Maybe just Mycroft’s and Sherlock’s POV? Umm…  
> Anyway, let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!


	2. Sidetracked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did end up writing more (who was I kidding, of course I was going to write more. Why do I lie to myself?) and well… here’s a new chapter. Nothing much going on though… I need to figure out a plot ASAP (besides getting them together. I mean, I just need some dramatic, angst filled plot because that’s apparently what I write no matter what...)  
> Anyway, forgive my ramblings and enjoy?

Sherlock hasn’t yet decided whether or not he really likes John Watson, but the scales are definitely tipped in his favour. After his encounter with Mycroft, the doctor seemed a bit surprised (and perhaps a bit ruffled), but not worried or scared, which is always good. People who can stand up for themselves in front of his brother are always  _ interesting  _ in Sherlock's book.

He thinks that might have been what he saw on Lestrade at first. The DI hadn’t seemed even the slightest bit intimidated in the presence of the older Holmes, and although extremely polite, he had never let Mycroft talk down to him. 

Then again it might have just been how damn  _ attractive  _ the man was. Not that Sherlock put much attention on looks, but something about Lestrade…

He never allows himself to address the DI by his given name, not even in his head. It might be a little… silly, but he feels that such allowance will make him behave even more like a fool around the older man. It’s just too… intimate, he guesses.

Anyway, it seems he has sidetracked. That’s a rather unfortunate occurrence nowadays; it seems his thoughts never stray too far away from the DI for long. Any small,  _ silly  _ thing has him waxing poetically about the object of his affection and-

Yes. Sidetracked. Again. Back to the matter at hand-

John Watson. He seems agreeable enough and could be quite useful in cases. He’s not completely dull and he’s quite competent so yes, Sherlock does believe their association could work. Not that he has ever been particularly eager to interact with other people, but-

He’s willing to admit to himself that he’s been feeling rather lonely lately. And that’s not a good thing, no good at all; last time he felt this way- well, that hadn’t ended well, had it?

And if he goes back to drugs, Mycroft will skin him alive. And even more worrisome, Lestrade won’t allow him into cases anymore and then he won’t be seeing the DI and that’s just unacceptable.

So yes, John Watson would do.

* * *

 

Except that John Watson  _ hits on  _ him and Sherlock panics. Because well… the doctor is  _ attractive _ and he’s _ interesting _ , but Sherlock is pretty much taken (even if certain DI has failed to notice)

But then John assures him he isn’t trying to  _ pick him up  _ and that’s good, because that would make things  _ awkward  _ and Sherlock really can’t do with any more distractions right now.  _ Feelings  _ only get in the way, he would really be better off not feeling anything at all, but alas-

It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that John  _ doesn’t like him like that  _ and everything is alright with the world.

* * *

 

He’s upset about the drug bust, mostly because it seems unfair that Lestrade still uses that old excuse to get access to his apartment whenever he wants. Sherlock wouldn’t deny him access (although he might withhold evidence) if he asked nicely. In fact, he would be more than happy to allow him into his home-

Sidetracked. Again. He needs to focus, he has a  _ case  _ to solve. The Work is the most important thing, The Work is what keeps him right. The Work might be a fickle mistress, but at least The Work wouldn’t leave him to go back to an unfaithful wife that-

Damn it. He needs to stop sidetracking!

_ Focus. Focus.  _ There’s something he’s not seeing, there’s something he’s missing, but what-?

He really wishes he was at top of his game.

* * *

 

How pathetic is it that he feels comforted by Lestrade’s obvious anger after he went after the killer without informing a soul? This  _ thing  _ is certainly spiraling out of control, this whole  _ crush  _ is getting more ridiculous with each passing day. He never thought he would be  _ victim  _ of such hateful  _ feelings  _ and yet-

He interrupts himself on his description of the shooter when he catches sight of John Watson and suddenly he understands what happened. He finds himself intrigued and so his curiosity distracts him of the horrid lure of his  _ crush  _ (at least for the time being)

He leaves the crime scene with John by his side, sending inquisitive looks in the doctor’s direction, wanting to find out all his secrets, but the man just smirks self assuredly.

A quite interesting puzzle indeed.

With any luck, John will manage to provide some distraction from his now frequent self pitying thoughts and who knows, he might be able to help with his  _ problem; _ the man seems to know a thing or two about  _ relationships. _

The appearance of his brother is unwanted, but not surprising. What is surprising is the way the older Holmes rewards John Watson. Now this… this is an interesting development.

Sherlock smirks to himself, thinking it’s high time for his brother to share his _heart_ _troubles._

If nothing else, it’ll teach him to keep his nose out of his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one is even shorter? You see why I need a plot? an evil plot? Because I’m dramatic like that! Also… I don’t know. I’m having a bit of trouble writing Sherstrade, so any suggestions on that would be greatly welcome!   
> Let me know what you thought and thanks for reading!


	3. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here’s chapter 3! I kinda have an evil plot now, but it’s nowhere near as evil as my usual ones so… there’s a good chance it’ll change at some point ;)  
> Anyway, enjoy?

John decides to leave the apartment some time after Sherlock’s hundredth wistful sigh followed by a frustrated scoff. He thinks he’s beginning to understand what has his flatmate in such state, but he doesn’t think he’s about to open that particular can of worms any time soon. Not if he wants to keep his sanity intact, that is.

Although maybe he’s not that sane to begin with. Most people wouldn’t have run after their crazy flatmates when they had run after a serial killer and most people certainly would have run away as fast as possible after being kidnapped (along with their date) by a band of chinese smugglers due a case of mistaken identity.

So okay, he might not be completely sane but he’s still not discussing Sherlock’s _love life_ any time soon _._

Earlier that morning (like really really early in the morning), they had received a visit from Detective Inspector Lestrade. This, John has learned, is not a completely uncommon occurrence, although it always seems to affect Sherlock’s mood differently, sometimes leaving him excited, content, _giddy_ or just generally frustrated.

The last one, unfortunately, turned out to be today’s case.

Their conversation had seemed pretty normal (by their standards, in any case), but it had dissolved into a fight of epic proportions after Sherlock had more or less confessed he might have withheld evidence from the DI (again). Of course Lestrade hadn’t been particularly happy with such revelation and soon enough they had started yelling, rattling on John’s nerves, but the doctor had kept (wisefully) quiet during the whole exchange.

Finally Lestrade had left, huffing and muttering under his breath about _consulting detectives_ who _aren’t worth the hassle._

Sherlock had been strangely quiet afterwards.

John sighs; maybe he shouldn’t have left Sherlock alone like that. Who knows what he can do if-?

Deciding he doesn’t want to worry much about it, he enters the first open pub he finds. It might be too early to be drinking but well, he figures he has earned it after the hellish week (month?) he has have. He does enjoy living with Sherlock and going with him on cases; he hasn’t felt this alive since he came back from Afghanistan. Still, sometimes-

He catches sight of a familiar form sitting on his own in a dark corner and he bites his lip, wondering if he should approach the other man or if he should just leave and look for another pub. In the end, he orders two beers and heads towards the corner table.

“You come here often?” he asks, with a friendly smile, his tone light. Lestrade looks up from his phone and offers him a tired smile.

“He chased you out of the flat?” he asks, taking the beer the doctor offers him. John snorts amusedly.

“You could say that,” John comments off handedly. “There’s only so much silent, pitiful pining a man can take.”

He realizes a second too late what he has just implied and entertains himself drinking his beer, praying he won’t have to explain. He doesn’t know for sure if Sherlock is pining after the DI and if he is, he probably doesn’t want the object of his affections to know about that.

Lestrade just stares at him confusedly and John wonders if the man is really as oblivious and _blind_ as Sherlock likes to imply. He _hopes_ he’ll simply let it go because otherwise…

“So, what are you doing here?” he decides to ask, figuring changing topics is the safer bet. “Didn’t you say you had to go back to the station?”

Lestrade huffs. “And tell Anderson what? That the missing evidence is indeed missing? He’ll rat me out to the chief and I’m not eager to get into another discussion just yet.”

John cringes a bit. “What exactly is missing? I could try to talk Sherlock into handing it over. Or I could look for it; I bet Sherlock has left it lying around the apartment and is just being difficult about it.”

Lestrade stares at him as if he’s heaven sent, making John squirm, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “You are a saint, John Watson. Thank god he found you.”

John rolls his eyes. “He’s not as bad.”

The DI stays quiet, looking all thoughtful and John wonders what he’s thinking about. “He really isn’t,” he agrees. “Although he can be a right git when he wants to.”

“Not going to argue with you on that,” the doctor agrees with a smile. “So, I’m curious. How long have you known Sherlock?”

The older man hums, leaning back on his seat. “Eight years? I had just been promoted to Sergeant and one day I get called into this apparently _ordinary_ murder case, just outside a drug den and when I arrive to the scene, DI Gregson is arguing with this… _kid_ , really, who is high as a kite and that keeps saying we got the wrong man, because it was _obvious_ it wasn’t a robbery gone wrong-” he waves his hand vaguely, a wistful smile on his lips and John can’t help to smile too. “Long story short, it turns out the kid is right, we caught the real culprit and 24 hours later me and Gregson are getting _kidnapped_ by this posh man in a black car-”

“Mycroft?”

“Mycroft Holmes,” Lestrade agrees, smirking a bit. “He makes his whole _I’m mysterious and I could have you murdered if you don’t do as I say_ routine and then we’re sent on our way. There’s no need to say that next time Sherlock shows up at our crime scene, he gets to snoop around as much as his heart desires.”

John snorts. He had the impression that despite Sherlock’s claims of Mycroft being his _archenemy,_ in truth his older brother had him terribly spoiled. He, however, avoids thinking of Mycroft Holmes as much as possible, because he really doesn’t want to dwell long on the memories of their quick encounter and what transpired during it.

He had never felt quite so… drawn to someone before. It was pure animal magnetism and he’s not really sure how he feels about that so he chooses not to think about it. In any case, it’s not like thinking about it will lead somewhere-

“-but I put my foot down and told him that if he didn’t get clean, I wasn’t allowing him into any more crime scenes.” John forces himself to focus his attention back on Lestrade, since the man has carried on with his tale of how he and Sherlock meet.

“And he did? Just like that?”

Lestrade shrugs. “Took some work, I’m not going to deny it, and I spent far too much time covered in vomit and alternating between being threatened and being propositioned for a tiny bit of cocaine, but well… it worked out in the end.”

John smiles sadly. “It must have been hard.”

“Hellish,” the older male agrees. “But it was worth it.”

The doctor nods wisely. “You’re a good man, Detective Inspector.”

“Call me Greg,” the man offers. “Shorter and easier, huh?”

“You may call me John then,” the blond agrees, shaking hands with the DI, both smiling.

They speak of lighter subjects for the rest of the afternoon, until Greg finally gets a call from work, Donovan implying that if he doesn’t come back right away the boss is going to be very _displeased._ When the DI just groans, the Sergeant informs him that Sherlock was around earlier because he had _misplaced_ some evidence and wished to return it.

As Greg leaves the pub, John shakes his head, feeling quite amused.

Sherlock’s flirting technique needs some work.

Maybe John could help with that.

* * *

 

He leaves the pub a few minutes after Greg, feeling pleasantly buzzed and while he supposes Sherlock might still be sulking, he must be in a slightly better mood than he was when he left the flat so it should be safe to return now.

His plans quickly change, for there’s a sleek black car waiting for him in the corner. With a resigned sigh, John makes his way towards it.

Better to get this over with, he guesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? It sounded better in my head, but when I wrote it down it just feels a bit rushed?  
> Let me know what you thought!


	4. Married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was going to turn out to be longer but it seems it didn’t. Oh well…  
> Enjoy?

It’s close to midnight by the time Greg is done with the paperwork and then he spends another half an hour contemplating the merits of heading home or just finding something else to do at the office.

It tells an awful lot about the state of a marriage when one of the partners’ first thought after a tiring day at work isn’t ‘ _I want to go home._ ’

In the end though, he decides to head back to the apartment he shares with the Wife, if only because he’s in the desperate need of a shower and besides, the small cramped couch at the office is bad for his spine.

The fact that he refers to the supposed love of his life as ‘the Wife’ nowadays also tells you a lot about the state of his marriage. Not to mention the fact that the apartment is no longer a _home_ but just a place to catch a quick nap and take a shower.

The flat is quiet as he walks inside, careful not to make much noise, feeling like a thief in the night. His wife is asleep on the couch, her messy curls failing like a halo around her pale face. Greg takes a deep breath and heads straight to the shower, feeling guilty at his late arrival now. Not that he really believes she was waiting for him, but then…

Well, better not to think much about it.

* * *

 

The hot water is heaven for his sore muscles and he spends 10 minutes just basking in the warmth. He closes his eyes and throws his head back, groaning as he feels himself relaxing. He loves his job, he really does, but there are days…

A gruesome crime scene would put most people off and even for the more senior officers, there are certain scenes that make them ill, but Greg has always prided himself on how well he keeps himself together. He can handle whatever his superiors throw his way, but what he can’t really stand is the tiresome paperwork.

_Useless. Dull._

He finds himself chuckling as Sherlock’s words resonate inside his head. He has always had a soft spot for the younger man, although as the years have passed, he fears it has turned into something else entirely. At first he had been curious of the crime solving genius that spent far too much time getting high but at some point it had turned into honest admiration and then-

Well. He’d rather not think about it.

He considers the merits of having a quick wank and then recalls his latest _argument_ with Sherlock (over a freaking _spoon,_ for Christ’s sake!) and decides against it. He always feels guilty after indulging in some fantasies, but it’s even worse when they’re not in the best of terms.

He steps out of the shower, not bothering to put anything on except for an old pair of pajama pants. Still dripping wet he walks into the bedroom, now pleasantly sleepy and relaxed.

“You’re dripping all over the floor.”

He holds back a groan. “I’ll clean before I leave tomorrow,” he promises softly, not in the mood for a fight. His wife observes him for a beat, her blue eyes burning through him and Greg forces himself not to snap at her. He’s tired, that’s true, but it certainly isn’t her fault and although she could be a tad more understanding, the truth is that neither of them is making an effort for their marriage to work anymore.

“Alright,” she whispers, sliding into the bed shortly after him. Both lie on their backs, staring at the ceiling, incredibly tense. That’s no way of living, _obviously,_ but- “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, turning off the lights. Eventually, the female’s breath evens, signaling she has fallen back asleep but Greg finds himself incapable of sleeping, regardless of his tiredness.

God, how did his life come down to this? And more importantly, why is he willing to keep on like this?

* * *

 

It was never going to work and they both had known it. She had wanted a simple life in the suburbs, for Greg to find a steady and safe job. He, on the other hand, had never intended to leave London and he had always wanted to work for the Yard.

But they had been _young_ and _reckless_ and _in love_ and well… with all the innocence and little care for consecuences teenagers have, they had married. And it had worked, for a little while, but eventually their differing views on life had started pulling them apart and-

Greg had been aware of the _affairs,_ he certainly hadn’t needed Sherlock (or occasionally Mycroft) to point them out. Some part of him is a little hurt by them, but mostly, he finds himself uncaring. Which, once more, tells us an awful lot about the state of his marriage.

It’s not like he’s completely innocent, in any case. Although most people would argue that _fantasizing_ about someone is not quite the same as actually _cheating_ , Greg’s moral code might be a little more strict than most people’s.

He doesn’t delude himself, though. The main reason he hasn’t acted on his _feelings_ is the fact that he knows they won’t be welcome. Not that he can blame Sherlock; the man is _gorgeous_ and _brilliant_ and **_ten years younger_ ** _._ God, it’s all terribly twisted up, isn’t it?

He watches the consulting detective as he sweeps around the crime scene, his eyes alight with the challenge it presents. Sometimes he worries a bit about that, but then people have never bother much with Sherlock, why should he bother with them?

He sighs as Sherlock gets into a fight ( _again_ ) with Anderson and steadies himself for the row that’s about to come, but John steps in before he can and Sherlock immediately deflates, turning his attention back to the cadaver and leaving the forensic alone.

Greg feels a bitter smile rising to his lips; he’s glad Sherlock has finally found someone, clearly, but he can’t help to feel just a tiny bit jealous. Still, he recognizes John is good for him; the doctor is a good man, with nerves of steel, that can take whatever the consulting detective throws his way.

Yes, he’s certainly the right one. Reliable, steady, kind, with a mean vein when pressed. And much more closer to Sherlock’s age. Less broken too, probably, although he did go to war so maybe-

No use on entertaining these thoughts, really. In any case, it’s Sherlock’s decision and he has obviously made it. All he can do is swallow his jealousy and try to be happy for him because that’s what friends do, right?

Besides, he’s married. And regardless of the state of his marriage-

The fact remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? Don’t you love how oblivious they all are to the affections of their own love interests? Oh well…  
> Also, I’m fairly certain we really don’t know anything about Mrs. Lestrade other than she’s cheating on him? So well… I was reluctant to portray her too badly and well, I rather think this works.  
> Let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading!


	5. Priorities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So terribly sorry about the late update, but last week was pretty crazy so… Anyway, here’s a new chapter, although it ended up being quite short due the craziness I previously mentioned. Still, enjoy?  
> Oh, before we begin, I just want to say that while I plan to follow canon somewhat, there’ll be some minor modifications that I feel are necessary for the sake of the plot. If anything feels confusing, please let me know!

Sherlock watches as John leaves the apartment to go to _Sarah’s._ A wonder the woman is still willing to date him, considering how their first date worked out and it certainly doesn’t bode well for his older brother, does it?

 _Dull, dull, utterly dull_ but there’s nothing else happening and so his brother’s love life (and his flatmate’s by extension) will have to work as a distraction.

It’s curious, really, that Mycroft hasn’t made a move so far. After all, in Sherlock’s experience, his brother has very little concept of _boundaries_ and he’s certainly not above kidnapping someone for a _date._ Besides, while the older Holmes might not have much experience in having an _actual_ relationship, he certainly knows how to get people into his bed and lets face it, John has made it very clear that he really _really_ wants to _get a leg over_ so…

He stares outside the window, pondering the idea over for a bit. _How pedestrian_ , he thinks bitterly, wondering if by some miracle a good puzzle will fall from heaven and will stop him from contemplating his brother’s _ridiculous_ decisions.

He turns, yelling at Mrs. Hudson and a explosion takes place right behind him.

Well… ask and you shall receive, apparently.

* * *

 

John runs upstairs, his heart beating furiously in his chest. Sherlock might be a mad bugger, but he’s his _friend_ and the idea of losing him in an explosion…

The apartment is, apparently, undamaged. At the sight of Sherlock lounging at his chair, he should find himself breathing more easily, except for the fact that there’s someone else sitting at his usual seat and that someone happens to be-

He has very carefully avoided thinking of Mycroft Holmes. There are certain thoughts that are simply _foolish_ to entertain and John is a smart, _practical_ man. No use on _pining_ pathetically over his mad flatmate’s older brother, no matter how _damn_ _attractive_ said brother is.

Seriously, it should be illegal to be that attractive. Then again, since Mycroft apparently is the British Government…

Mycroft launches himself on an explanation of the motive of his visit, most of it going over John’s head. Sherlock’s eyes dance between them, apparently very entertained with John and Mycroft’s interaction. Although puzzling, the doctor doesn’t pay him much mind, knowing there’s really no point in trying to understand how Sherlock’s funny huge brain works.

“Don’t make me order you,” Mycroft tells Sherlock and a shiver runs down John’s spine, making him think of a bunch of rather _unsavory_ scenarios in which Mycroft orders him around and…

 _Get your mind out of the gutter, Watson,_ he tells himself angrily, ignoring his traitorous body’s reactions. This is a very dangerous path, a path he shouldn’t even contemplate and yet-

Mycroft gives him the file and leaves, evidently displeased by Sherlock’s dismissal of the case, but unwilling to get into an argument with his younger sibling. Once he’s gone, John finds himself breathing more easily.

Sherlock’s eyes are still focused on him, amusement dancing in their depths. John arches an eyebrow, curious and his friend smirks knowingly which makes the doctor quietly panic. _Please God, no,_ he thinks despairingly, because if Sherlock has figured out his very embarrassing _crush_ on the older Holmes…

Before Sherlock can open his mouth though, the sound of someone coming upstairs grabs the detective’s attention. Lestrade shows at the door and it’s John’s turn to smirk smugly as Sherlock’s whole focus goes to the older man.

In all fairness, Greg has brought them a case, but that’s obviously not the only source of Sherlock’s pleasure.

* * *

 

It’s completely unfair that when an interesting criminal decides to show himself, Lestrade is the one in charge of the case. The DI is just plain _distracting,_ even when he’s not in the room. A part of Sherlock wants to give his whole focus to the thrill of the puzzle, but another part of him insists on reminding him that Lestrade is around and that he should attempt not to show too much joy for there are lives at stake but-

The puzzle is so _interesting._ And he has an idling of _who_ might be behind it and that makes it even more _enchanting._ Now, if only he could focus…

Damn Lestrade and this ridiculous _crush_ of his!

* * *

 

Nothing like mad psychopaths to make you sort through your priorities. Of course being sent to _talk_ to Mycroft while Sherlock tries to figure out how to stop the mad bastard that’s _playing_ with him seems like a _logical_ solution and certainly John knows this, but-

Not fair, not fair at all. Why, oh why must the man dress so impeccably? It just makes John want to- to-

 _Stop that,_ he tells himself darkly, because seriously, this is _ridiculous,_ he wasn’t this _pathetic_ when he was 14 and trying to figure out how to flirt and yet there’s something about Mycroft Holmes that makes him feel like the awkward teenager he never really was-

But Mycroft looks at him like he could _devour_ him and John thinks he would rather like that, he would like it very much and _why won’t the man just make a move_ and put him out of his misery? If Sherlock knows about his infatuation, then certainly Mycroft has already figured it out too and John could almost swear the attraction isn’t one sided (it can’t be, can it? This amount of _tension_ in the air wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t mutual, right?) but then-

In the end, he gets dismissed politely and John somehow manages to walk out of the office without embarrassing himself, which is… good, he supposes, although-

God, this is seriously out of control.

The question is, what he ought to do?

* * *

 

Priorities. The Work comes first, of course, the Work is the only thing that matters, actually. Helping people, _saving people_ … well, that has never been the real objective, has it? After all, people are… _cruel_ and _vile_ and there’s no such thing as _innocents_ and yet-

He knows his view crashes with the ones from the people he _works with._ Lestrade particularly is quite adamant about the importance of the _people,_ of the supposed innocents they’re protecting. Sherlock admires that, he won’t deny it, but sometimes-

Sometimes he finds it frustrating, because if he doesn’t get it _right,_ if he doesn’t get _in time-_ he feels like a failure. And that’s not supposed to happen, he doesn’t do this for the human lives at stake, or for the justice, or anything like that. He does it for the _mystery._ He does it so he won’t be bored.

“Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.”

John’s disappointment is hard to swallow, but manageable. He closes his eyes and tells himself he can do this, he hasn’t lost the Game. He did get it right and in time, it’s just-

He did nothing wrong.

You just can’t always save everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? It’s short and nothing is yet happening, but well… I promise we’ll get to it. Sometime. I swear! ;P  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	6. Taking chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I’m so so sorry for the late update but I got a bit stuck after last chapter… I decided I didn’t want to go into much detail with what happens in canon, but I hope it didn’t end becoming too confusing?  
> Enjoy?

As the last echoes of Moriarty’s steps fade into perfect silence, John starts thinking about his need to reevaluate his life’s choices; being this close to dying twice in the same year can’t be healthy, surely Ella would have something to say about it. Then again-

Sherlock basically collapses next to him, resting his head against the wall. “You should probably call Sarah,” his mad flatmate suggests. “She might worry if you don’t show up for your _date_.”

John can’t help the nearly hysterical giggles and Sherlock follows suit shortly after. For a while, there’s no other sound but their breathless laughter filling the deserted pool and John thinks that there’s simply no way he’ll ever be able to let go of this. It might be crazy and it’ll likely end in a premature death but-

He’s enjoying it far too much to give it up just yet.

“Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me we’re not meant to be,” John comments, once he catches his breath. “Two interrupted dates by kidnapping… feels like some type a cosmic signal.”

“If you believe in that nonsense,” Sherlock replies offhandedly. They share a smile and laugh once more, both relieved and high on adrenaline. “Funny that my brother and his minions haven’t shown up just yet.”

John’s heart skips a beat at the mention of the older Holmes and he promptly forces himself to ignore it. “Maybe he doesn’t know it yet? This Moriarty fellow seems terribly clever.”

Sherlock hums, closing his eyes, a tired smile on his lips. “He’s certainly interesting.”

John rolls his eyes. “You have horrid taste in men. One is married and the other is a psychopath.”

“Me?” Sherlock protests playfully, although John can tell he’s still a bit hurt by John’s earlier comment about wishing them happiness. “What about you? My brother is- well. Do I really need to elaborate?”

John glares, although he must admit he walked himself into that trap. Of course Sherlock has already noticed his horribly embarrassing crush and it was just a matter of time before he mentioned it. “He’s very handsome,” he tries to defend himself. “And this _mysterious_ aura of his? Terribly sexy.” He offers Sherlock a big smirk and the younger Holmes looks appropriately horrified. John laughs, because that was certainly his intention: if Sherlock becomes uncomfortable discussing the subject, he won’t bring it up ever again.

They fall into companionable silence once more, neither in any rush to move. “What are we going to do, John?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I always- I always knew my life could end at any given moment, but I never- I had never came this close to actually dying,” Sherlock confesses quietly, looking terribly young and vulnerable for a moment, “I can’t go on like this.”

“What do you mean?” John asks, now most definitely worried. Sherlock turns to look at him and he looks so earnest that John isn’t quite sure how to react.

“If I die- I don’t want to have any regrets.” He stands up suddenly and John’s eyes follow him as he starts pacing, “I’m no good at this, and although I’ve tried to follow every piece of advice on those insufferably insipid female magazines, I haven’t succeeded on making my intentions clear, so-”

“You know, calling him an idiot and stealing evidence from his crime scenes is probably not the right way to go about flirting,” John interrupts him, finally figuring out where this is going. “We’re not five, so pulling at Greg’s metaphorical pigtails isn’t going to get his attention. Or at least, not in the right way,” he thinks about it for a second, “in fact, I’m not sure that works on five-years-old either…”

“But what I do, then?” Sherlock demands, grabbing John by the shoulders and pulling him upright. “You gotta help me, John. You- I’ll admit you seem to have a bit more of experience on the subject, although considering your lack of success on bedding my brother, when is so very obvious he would very much like to-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll help!” John interrupts, desperate for this conversation to be over. “But if I do, you’re never EVER again mentioning my stupid infatuation with your brother, alright?”

Sherlock frowns, looking confused. “Don’t you want to do anything about it? I could give you a couple of pointers-”

And while that sounds marvelous, John is convinced that getting into Mycroft Holmes’ pants would be a terrible, terrible idea. If he’s lucky, he’ll end with a broken heart for his troubles and if he’s not… well, not even Sherlock will be able to find his body.

“No, that’s- that’s not necessary.” His friend looks sceptic, but John ignores him. “But I’ll help with Greg. Although… he’s married, Sherlock.”

“I know! But his wife-”

“Cheats on him. Yes, I know and he knows and probably everyone at the Yard knows, but… he has chosen to stay with her for a reason. I don’t know why and I sincerely don’t understand it, but what I’m trying to tell you is this: you should be aware that failure is the most likely outcome of whatever you attempt.”

Sherlock bites his lip non too gently, evidently not liking the prospect. He’s not used to losing, or to being wrong but in this case… In this case, despite his best efforts, it might come to nothing.

“I’ll take the chance,” he whispers softly and John nods solemnly. “And I think you should too.”

“Sherlock…”John warns and the detective clenches his jaw, but nods. Just then, they become aware of the sound of steps outside the pool. Both doors open at the same time and a group of armed men come rushing in. Sherlock rolls his eyes and lets go of John in order to turn around to face one group of the newcomers.

“Congratulations, gentlemen, you’re late!” he exclaims sarcastically. “Really, brother mine, you’re getting slow.”

Mycroft steps from behind the group and John forces himself to keep a blank face, reminding himself that he does not want to pursue a relationship with the man. It’s a bad idea, horrible really, and it’ll end in nothing but chaos.

And yet-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? Please let me know what you thought! I’m not very good at this humor business, but I’m trying to keep it on a lighthearted note so… I don’t know. I really don’t know.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	7. Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I might not be able to update in awhile because my daughter will be out of school after tomorrow so... I hope you’ll enjoy this in the meantime?

Sherlock is his usual energetic self, yelling at people and complaining about everyone’s general incompetence. Seems that his brief brush with death hasn’t really manage to change him one bit.

And yet-

Mycroft isn’t buying for one second his brother’s aloofness. It’s obvious he has been shaken by tonight’s events, even if he’s unwilling to acknowledge it. Facing one’s own mortality unavoidably changes you, although only time will tell just how much has Sherlock’s encounter with Moriarty affected him. In any case, Mycroft believes he’s entitled to keep a closer eye on his brother.

And on his brother’s friend, since Dr. Watson somehow managed to get himself kidnapped by Moriarty in the first place. Mycroft hates to think what could have happened if-

“Tomorrow! I’ll fill the reports tomorrow!”

He gets pull out of his dark musings by the sound of his brother yelling and he sighs, getting closer to the place where the commotion is taking place. Sherlock is deep in an argument with Lestrade, who looks both tired and concerned. 

“Sherlock, the protocol is-”

“I don’t care!” the younger male exclaims. “If the Yard wasn’t so concerned with the ‘protocol’, they would have a better chance of actually catching the dangerous criminals, don’t you think? Tonight is a prime example-”

“Sherlock,” Dr. Watson interrupts sharply, making the younger Holmes stop his angry monologue. He turns to face his flatmate, a frown on his face and the doctor arches an eyebrow, looking mostly frustrated. “Remember what we talked about?”

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest and then closes it, seemingly thinking better of it. Lestrade looks quite perplexed at the turn of events and Mycroft must admit he’s just as surprised. “Right. Right,” the younger male murmurs. “I’ll just- I’ll go with Lestrade now?” he says, hesitantly, observing the blond man like he has all the answers of the world. Dr. Watson nods, a small smile on his lips and Sherlock nods to himself, looking strangely proud of himself.

Lestrade arches his eyebrows, evidently thrown aback by the sudden change in Sherlock’s mood, but doesn’t comment and pulls the consulting detective towards his car, where he’ll presumably proceed to interrogate him about tonight’s events. Dr. Watson remains where he is, a soft smug smile on his lips.

“That was quite something,” Mycroft comments off handedly. “My brother has a tendency to do as he pleases and not listen to anyone’s opinion.”

Dr. Watson eyes him warily, his eyes scanning him quickly and Mycroft can’t help to stand a bit taller. It’s ridiculous, this silly infatuation of his, particularly because it’ll go nowhere, but he can’t help his desire to impress the man. “We might have come to an understanding,” he comments lightly, shrugging. “He agreed to follow my lead on this particular matter.”

Mycroft frowns, unsure of what to make of such statement. They stand in silence for a while, both watching Sherlock and Lestrade talking. It’s obvious there’s no actual interrogation going on, mostly the DI is fussing over the younger male and Sherlock is enjoying the attention greatly.

“God, what a night,” the doctor says suddenly, running a hand through his hair. “I could really use a drink.”

“I could offer you one at my car,” Mycroft offers without stopping to think about it. Dr. Watson turns to look at him sharply, eyebrows raised and he fights down the blush that threatens to invade his cheeks. “That’s if- if you- I mean-” god, how embarrassing! To be turn into a blubbering man-

“That’ll be nice,” his companion tells him, a barely there smile on his lips. 

Mycroft nods tightly, not trusting his voice. He turns around and heads towards his car, hoping the other male will follow, biting his lip and trying to get himself back under control.

Really, this is ridiculous. He wasn’t this pathetic when he was 15 and hormone riddled and now that he’s almost forty-

Unbelievable, really.

* * *

 

Dr. Watson takes the offered drink with a small smile that Mycroft finds himself returning right away. They sit inside the car in perfect silence, both lost in their own thoughts. From this point is hard to keep track of Sherlock’s movements, but Mycroft guesses his baby brother is safe enough with Lestrade right now. He’ll have to increase the surveillance level on him later and Sherlock will probably have something to say against it, but it’s really for the best.

“Don’t,” Dr. Watson suddenly says, his eyes fixed on him so intently that Mycroft finds himself fighting off his urge to blush once more.

“I beg your pardon?” he questions lightly, pouring a drink for himself, figuring there’s an unpleasant conversation coming.

“Don’t put more surveillance on Sherlock. He’s not a child anymore and he doesn’t appreciate your meddling,” the doctor says, taking the bottle from Mycroft so he can pour himself some more scotch. “You’ll just succeeded on getting him upset.”

Mycroft frowns, knowing that’s true, but- “Moriarty is a most dangerous man.”

The other man chuckles, “you’re telling me.” He leans back on his seat, contemplating his drink as if it held all the answers in the world. “Moriarty had me kidnapped and covered in explosives, I think I know exactly how dangerous he is.” He finishes his drink in one large gulp and Mycroft has the most ridiculous urge to lick his companion’s throat. “Still, Sherlock won’t appreciate your ‘concern’.”

“Being an older brother yourself, surely you understand the need to see your younger sibling protected,” Mycroft replies calmly, trying to keep his traitorous hormones under control. The doctor frowns and then smiles, amused.

“Your brother could tell I had a sibling and that I didn’t get along with her by my phone, but I suspect your methods of finding out about my family are much more mundane, aren’t they, Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft gulps, the way Dr. Watson calls his name making him feel… odd. “I do have a file on you, Dr. Watson.” He replies evenly, “as you might recall from our very first meeting.”

The other man smiles, a bit self deprecatingly in Mycroft’s opinion and nods. “You’re just a concerned older brother, aren’t you?”

“I’m also an interested party,” Mycroft finds himself saying, not completely sure why he’s telling him that. “Your wellbeing has also become a concern of mine, Dr. Watson.”

“Is that so?” the doctor asks, something undecipherable shining in his eyes. “In that case, please call me John.”

The older male gulps once more, unsure of what they’re doing. “Mycroft is fine, then.”

John’s smile is a bit predatory and Mycroft can’t help the rush of arousal. Oh, this is a very VERY bad idea and he’s certain he should put a stop to this before it becomes unmanageable, but-

“John!” Sherlock bellows, opening the door and startling them both. “We’re done here!” the younger Holmes announces and by his frown, it’s easy to see things turned sour with DI Lestrade.

“Sherlock,” John’s tone is placating, but the consulting detective doesn’t seem inclined to allow anyone to placate him. He’s glaring now, his eyes going from his friend and flatmate to his brother.

“You’ve changed your mind so quickly?” the younger male questions, his eyes narrowing and John glares back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Oh, shut it,” the doctor protest, handing back his glass to Mycroft. “Let’s go.”

Sherlock frowns, but moves to allow his friend to exit the vehicle. He turns to glare at Mycroft once more, before closing the door with a little too much strength. Mycroft stares at him, confused and completely unsure of what the hell had just happened.

The door opens once more and John peeks inside. “Sorry about that. I’ll take him home before he causes a scene.” He smiles briefly and that pulls a smile out of Mycroft, unconsciously. “Goodnight, Mycroft.”

“Goodnight John” he replies calmly and the doctor smiles once more, before closing the door with care. Mycroft stares after him for a while, trying to put his chaotic thoughts into a semblance of order.

But hard as he tries, he just can’t make sense of what has just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I’m having such fun with this! I don’t usually write anything this light hearted, but I’m enjoying it quite a lot, even if I don’t know what I’m going to do about TRF because… well. That’ll end the light heartedness, won’t it?  
> Oh well… as I said, next update might take a bit longer. Maybe not, since I’m quite inspired, but well, I can’t promise anything.  
> Thanks for reading and don’t forget to let me know what you thought!


	8. Miscalculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I don’t think I’ll have much writing time mostly because I won't have my computer with me so next update might take a while… but well, enjoy this chapter in the meantime?

Against his better judgement, Sherlock can’t help sparing a last quick glance in Lestrade’s direction. The DI doesn’t notice however, busy as he is arguing with  _ his wife  _ over the phone.

The consulting detective sighs, unsure of why exactly he allowed himself to believe something had changed. Just because he had some brief brush with death, nothing about his circumstances have changed one bit. Lestrade is still married, he’s still pathetically pining and John-

Well. Despite his previous words, John actually seems to have made some progress with Mycroft.

Sherlock shivers as his imagination presents with an image of what he might have found had he opened the car’s door a few minutes later. God, that’s one mental image he most definitely doesn’t need.

Not that he isn’t happy for his friend. And for his brother, he supposes. Despite their…  _ difficult  _ relationship, Mycroft is still his brother and he does care for him, even if he would rather die than admit it outloud.

“Are you ok?” John asks, ever the concerned friend and Sherlock scowls darkly at him. The doctor rolls his eyes, more amused than annoyed. “What happened?”

“ _ His wife  _ called,” he hisses angrily, finding himself pouting despite his attempts to keep his face perfectly blank of emotion. “Apparently, Lestrade was supposed to drive her somewhere and he forgot.”

“Oh,” John says, his tone soft and full of pity. Sherlock wraps his arms around himself, annoyed and just a tiny bit hurt. “I’m sorry.”

The younger male shrugs, turning to glare at the passing streets outside the window. He’s tired, mostly because of the case, and his last encounter with Lestrade is just the cherry on the cake (or something like that. He can’t be bothered to remember the correct expression) He’ll do well to remember that his infatuation is one-sided and it’s likely it’ll remain like that forever.

It doesn’t mean he’s about to give up yet, though. Sherlock does like to go against the odds.

And in this case, the reward is too high for him not to take the gamble.

* * *

 

Back at Baker Street, John murmurs something about being tired and hurries to disappear into his room. Sherlock nods absently and goes to sit on his usual chair, fingers linked beneath his chin in his usual thinking pose.

He needs a strategy, he supposes, but he’s unsure of how to go about that. He suspects that if Mrs. Lestrade was to suffer a  _ tragic  _ accident, the DI wouldn’t take it kindly. Of course, it’s not like he has to find out…

But knowing his meddling brother, he’ll eventually say something. He’ll argue  _ Lestrade had the right to know _ and John would probably agree, with something about it being  _ a bit not good. _ Ridiculous, in Sherlock’s opinion, since  _ tragic _ isn't the same as  _ deadly _ , but people are weird like that.

What to do, then?

Lestrade is far too  _ noble  _ to ever accept his advances as long as he stays married, so  _ the wife must go. _ But how exactly to accomplish that-

He eyes his laptop from the corner of his eye, the ridiculous idea of turning it on and attempting to contact a certain consulting criminal a bit too tempting. He has to laugh at that, thinking that all this  _ sentiment  _ is truly impairing his judgement.

It’s obvious she’s the one who needs to ask for the divorce, because Lestrade will never do it. Blackmail might work, but that would require actually meeting the woman and that’s not something Sherlock particularly cares to do. Something tells him it’ll end rather… nastily.

So… what’s left? Wait and pray for a miracle? He laughs once more, an edge of hysteria in the sound. He knows it’s pointless, he knows it won’t work but-

What else can he do?

* * *

 

“Oh, John. Another one already?”

His friend looks up from his phone with a guilty look, and yet he dares to pretend he has no idea what he’s talking about. Sherlock rolls his eyes, frustrated by John’s attempt to deceive him. “What are you exactly afraid of?” he asks, honestly curious. “You’re not closeted, I know that much, but what-”

“Sherlock!” the doctor exclaims, a tad indignant. “That’s- that’s really not- none of your business, really!”

He huffs, partially frustrated, partially amused. “You continued dating Sarah despite the  _ cosmic signs  _ claiming you weren’t meant to be,” he states calmly, despite John’s dark look. “And then she finally dumped you, having figured out what you already knew.” John’s glare turns even darker, but Sherlock carries on, undeterred. “Since then, you’ve gone on 3- no, 4 dates, all with different women that you had very little interest in and that had in turn very little interest in you and therefore you haven’t been able to get off with any of them,” he ignores John’s indignant sputtering and he continues, “all the while my brother is just one call away. I saw you that night at the car; had I arrived a few minutes later, I would have been scarred for life.”

John huffs, putting his phone down and going to make tea, looking mostly angered by how right Sherlock is. “It’s not- it doesn’t work like that.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sherlock asks, a tad confused. “As I see it, there’s no actual complication for you two: you’re both single and interested, what is holding you back?”

“I’d rather not end up dead in a ditch somewhere,” John replies, his tone dark, “and we both know you’re brother is not above that if I…  _ displeased  _ him.”

Sherlock huffs, rolling his eyes. “While that might be true, such reaction is a bit exaggerated for your particular kind of  _ entanglement. _ My brother has always been quite… well, he doesn’t get sentimental and so his  _ dates _ are in no risk to upset him greatly.”

John makes a face and it takes Sherlock embarrassingly long to put two and two together. “Oh. That’s what you’re worried about!” he exclaims, happy for having solved the puzzle and ignoring John’s flinch. “You’re worried you’ll get attached and he’ll…” he trails off, suddenly noticing his friend’s despondent look. “Oh, John. That’s- umm- I’m sorry?”

John shakes his head, a small sad smile on his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he argues calmly, “but you see now, don’t you? why it's better this way?”

Sherlock nods, uncertain if he truly agrees with John’s last statement, but figuring there’s really not much point in arguing. He hadn’t considered that, to be honest. He had noticed the  _ tension  _ between his brother and his friend, but he hadn’t thought- It had seemed-

Well. It goes showing how little he understands of the matters of the heart, doesn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? This turned out a bit sad? I think? But well… it's all building up to… something. I think ;)  
> Next chapter we’ll be seeing a bit of what Greg is up to and well… I promise good things are coming. Somewhat.  
> Thanks for reading


	9. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter my dears! I’m quite inspired for this fic right now, so I didn't want to keep you waiting for long!  
> Enjoy?

By the time Greg finally arrives home, it’s close to midnight. After ending that rather awful call with his wife, he had tried to find Sherlock again so they could carry on with the interrogation, but the consulting detective  has been nowhere in sight and so he had eventually given up, figuring he had left already and so, after finishing his own work at the pool, he had head towards his apartment.

The last few days have been hellish and he feels like he has aged a whole decade in less than a week. His whole body aches and his mind feels sluggish, so it's completely understandable that it takes him a bit to figure out what's wrong with what he's seeing.

The flat has been practically emptied, just the old couch remaining at the living room. With a frown, he makes his way to the bedroom, feeling oddly numb.

The bed is still on its place, along with the night table. Every little item his wife kept on top of it however, is gone, along with the covers, sheets and pillows. A search through the closet reveals what he already knows: his wife has left him.

He has the impression he ought to be feeling something; relief, regret, guilt,  _ something.  _ But he feels nothing at all. He's just too tired.

With a shrug, he picks up his pajamas from underneath the bed and heads towards the  bathroom, where he takes a long hot shower. He stands there until the water turns cold and then he steps out, puts on his nightclothes and comes out to the bedroom once more. He hunts for something to use to keep the cold at bay, finally finding an old dusty duvet and promptly falls asleep, not sparing a single thought to where his wife might be or what she might be doing.

It's not like it matters, really.

* * *

 

The regrets, if they can be called that, come the following day. He knows logically that she must have been planning to leave for a while; the ransacking of the  apartment suggests so. She was leaving before he forgot to pick her up to drive her to her fancy reunion and there was nothing he could have done to stop her, but he can't help thinking-

Well, no use in recriminations, really. What's done is done. And it's probably better this way; he knew things hadn’t been working since forever and-

So now that chapter of his life is over and hopefully, he’ll be moving on soon enough. He might not find someone else, but that's probably for the best too: with his crazy schedule and his tendency to always put work first-

Yes, it would probably be for the best.

* * *

 

 

“Oh,” Sherlock says, eyes wide as saucers. Greg arches an eyebrow questioningly, wondering what sudden revelation he’s just had and a little worried that it has nothing to do with the body in front of them.

“What do you have for me?” he asks, unwilling to show he's uncomfortable with the way Sherlock seems to be reading into his very soul.

“She left you,” he states, sounding a bit awed. Greg flinches, but doesn’t comment. “Why?” Sherlock presses, sounding honestly curious and maybe a tad- hopeful? Greg simply glares back. “She has been cheating on you since forever, why now?”

“Sherlock,” John interrupts sharply, his tone commanding. The consulting detective turns to him, a frown on his face. “Leave it.”

The younger male seems to be about to protest, but seems to think better of it and turns his attention back to the dead body. Greg can tell he's still thinking about his wife leaving, because romantic affairs always seem to baffle Sherlock, but he's really not in the mood to have this conversation and certainly not with the man he might or might not have a slight  _ crush  _ on.

Yes, he's never EVER, under no circumstances, going to discuss his love life with Sherlock.

* * *

 

“Are you alright, mate?” John asks, sounding actually sympathetic and Greg holds back a sight. He gets that people are trying to be supportive but-

“He's fine,” Sherlock announces with his usual lack of tact. “You can tell his wife left because of the state of his clothing, but he's actually been sleeping longer, probably due leaving the office at reasonable hours-"

The worst part is that the bloody git is right. He’s working less hours and sleeping longer and better and what does that say about him?

“Sherlock,” John warns, rubbing his temples tiredly and the younger male makes a face, but doesn't argue, although the clenching of his jaw is evident. Both men seem to be lost in a battle of wills, being fought merely by raised eyebrows and meaningful glances and Greg can't help to feel a bit unsettled by the display. But then, seeing the object of your affections so in sync with someone else would do that to anyone, he thinks.

John seems to emerge victorious of their exchange, going by his pleased smile. Sherlock’s eyes are fixed on Greg, though, once more seemingly reading into his very soul.

The DI gulps audibly and Sherlock offers him a lazy smirk. “We’re done here,” the consulting detective announces, eyes still focused on the older male and he gulps once more. “Let's go, John.”

The doctor hurries to follow, shaking his head, apparently amused. Greg watches them go, trying to ignore his raging jealousy.

His wife has just left him, for God's sake! And yet, all he's feeling right now-

Well, better not to even think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? I'm happy with where this is going and we'll be seeing Irene Adler the next chapter, so I'm excited about that too ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	10. Teenager behavior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's a new chapter! It was supposed to include more of Irene and to be a bit more on the humorous side but well… John can be quite melodramatic ;)  
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it!

“Bit not good, Sherlock,” John feels obliged to point out, even if he knows his friend is going to ignore him.

As predicted, the younger male continues pacing, a wide, almost crazed smile on his lips. John sighs, settling on his usual seat with a book, deciding to ignore his mad flatmate for the time being.

“Why?” Sherlock questions, suddenly standing in front of him and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Why what?” John demands frustratedly, trying to free himself from the other man’s deadly grip. He's used to Sherlock’s…  _ bizarre  _ behaviors, but he's honestly confused about what he's going on about right now.

“Why is it  _ a bit not good?”  _ his friend asks, sounding honestly worried and-  _ dare he think it?-  _ a bit vulnerable.

John stares at him, open mouthed, unsure of how exactly answer that. They stare at each other in silence, the tension building up around them until it reaches a nearly unbearable level. “I- come on Sherlock, you- his wife just left him-"

“Yes, exactly! Surely now is a good time to-”

“No, no! The time couldn't be worse!” John argues, wondering how Sherlock got so far in life while understanding so very little about basic human interaction. “He's probably feeling… alone, undesirable and vulnerable, and really-”

“There's no physical evidence that supports your claim,” Sherlock argues stubbornly. “And even if that's the case, I don't see why it would be a bad time to make an advance: surely it’ll make him feel better-"

“No, that's not- Listen, Sherlock, I just- I just don't want you to get hurt. Trust me, it's not a good time.”

The consulting detective frowns, evidently unconvinced. John sighs, wondering how could he exactly explain the concept of “rebound relationships" and why Sherlock shouldn't want that.

He gets spared of that difficult conversation when Sherlock turns around sharply, grabs his violin and proceeds to torture it, managing to produce the most horrible sounds known to man.

John considers the merits of going out and ultimately decides to just grab his headphones in an attempt to drown out the awful noise. He knows Sherlock is thinking about what he's just said and he should be around when he's done with it, for he’ll undoubtedly have questions.

Sometimes he feels like he's raising a teenager, really.

He's certainly as thick headed as one.

* * *

 

Not a teenager. Apparently, he's raising a toddler.

Still, it's quite funny and so John has no qualms about laughing about Sherlock’s lack of appropriate clothes while visiting the Buckingham Palace. Then of course, Mycroft shows up and although laughter is the last thing on his mind, he continues playing along.

He's not certain what to think of their newest case. It's- unconventional, really, but well… maybe it'll be a good distraction for Sherlock. God knows that the amount of Cosmo magazines lying around the apartment is troubling and a case might keep Sherlock from doing something foolish (like throwing himself at Greg at the next crime scene. Or showing up naked to said crime scene)

So yes, a case is most definitely in order, unconventional as it might be.

* * *

 

And then of course Ms. Adler proves to be a lot of trouble. But what worries him, more than the american tugs or the guns pointed at his head, is Sherlock’s reaction to The Woman. By all means, he has never seen his friend quite as affected by anyone, but then, he has known Greg for over a decade so maybe the effect has been diminished with the passing of the years. 

Or maybe-

But from what he understands, Sherlock isn't attracted to women. Of course, Sherlock is very bad at this whole romance-relationships-sexuality thing, so there's that too.

Interesting. A bit worrying. 

He doesn't know what to think.

* * *

 

Dragging Sherlock back to the flat is quite the herculean task, but luckily Mycroft’s minions show up to help. Unfortunately, that also means that the man himself shows up a bit later and that's-

It's silly, really, that he gets this affected. He's in his thirties, for someone's sake, he's too old for this! Silly crushes are for awkward teenagers, not grown up men! He knows better than to pine pathetically after a man so out of his reach, even if what Sherlock says is true: he could have a meaningless fling with Mycroft, only it wouldn't be meaningless for him and that's-

Well. That wouldn't be good.

So he should keep his distance. He really should.

And yet-

“I didn't quite realize it could be that dangerous,” Mycroft is saying, in a far too reasonable tone, as if they aren't discussing how he and Sherlock nearly got killed. “An overlook on my part, but I assure you it won't happen again, Dr. Watson.”

“Ah, so we're back to the formalities?” John asks, a tad flirtily, despite his better judgement. Mycroft  observes him for a beat, his gaze intent and John can’t quite hide the way that it makes him shiver. The taller man takes a step closer to him, their bodies now far too close for the doctor's peace of mind.

“It wasn't my intention to put either of you in the way of such danger, John.”

The doctor shrugs, not really paying attention to the words. He licks his lips nervously, all too aware of the way Mycroft’s eyes follow the movement. “It's fine, really. You know I like danger,” it comes out a bit more…  _ inviting _ than he intended and the older male closes the distance between them even further.

“Indeed,” Mycroft agrees, far too collected for John’s tastes. He longs to grab him by the lapels of his fine suit jacket and kiss him deeply, making him forget all sense of composure, but- “something on your mind, doctor?” the other teases and John’s self restrain finally snaps.

The kiss lacks any finesse, but that's obviously not a problem. It feels like a battle and it's one that John is destined to lose, but he can't bring himself to care right now. He wants-

There's a soft  _ thud _ coming from Sherlock’s bedroom and they break apart so quickly that it would be funny under other circumstances. They stare at each other in silence, both breathless and John is the first to break eye contact, biting his lip viciously.

God, what was he thinking?

“I- I’d better check on Sherlock,” he mutters awkwardly and Mycroft nods, not looking at him. Nodding to himself, John turns on his heel and hurries towards his friend’s bedroom.

It feels like he's running away.

Although he’d rather think of it as a tactical retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? I swear this was meant to be less dramatic, but well… I'm dramatic like that ;)  
> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought!


	11. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I… I really don’t know what's going on here. I wasn't planning for this to happen and considering how last chapter ended I’m not entirely sure it makes sense but well… sometimes you just have to roll with it, you know?  
> Anyway… enjoy?

As soon as John disappears into Sherlock’s room, Mycroft lets out a sigh, immediately attempting to gather his wits about him.

It’s a rather pointless exercise, he thinks, for there’s no way he’ll be able to think of something other than the doctor’s lips against his for the rest of the night (or week, or month, or lifetime, really) but he knows he must at least attempt to regain a semblance of composure before the other man comes back.

It was a bad idea to come here tonight, even if he was concerned for his younger brother. But his people’s reports had explicitly stated Sherlock was perfectly fine, if drugged, and so this visit could have waited until the following day.

He closes his eyes, taking one deep breath. He knows John reacts a bit… unpredictably after near death experiences, the memory of their conversation in the back of his car after that fatidic night at the pool being proof enough. He holds back a groan, telling himself that he’s indeed behaving like a fool but then-

John steps out of the room, closing the door behind him. He looks troubled and a tad concerned and Mycroft isn’t entirely sure of what to think. The doctor evidently cares for the younger Holmes and Mycroft is so convinced that there’s also a type of romantic attachment, but if that’s the case-

It doesn’t quite make sense. John kissed him so fiercely. Scared, yes, frustrated too, but so very eager. If he’s… lusting or longing or whatever for someone else…

“I should-” John begins, not quite meeting his eyes, his posture stiff, every muscle tensed as if ready to snap at the slightest pressure. “It’s been a long day,” he finishes lamely, apparently frustrated with himself.

Mycroft nods, eager to be left alone with his confusing thoughts. He’s just not used to this level of confusion and he absolutely hates his inability to correctly read John Watson. “Of course, I’ll show myself out.”

“Do you-?” Their eyes lock then and Mycroft can’t tell, for the life of him, what John’s expression might mean. He finds himself holding his breath, his heart beating furiously, as if his whole existence depends on the next words that John is about to speak. “Do you want to stay?” the other man finishes, somehow standing even straighter, holding his stare evenly.

“To sleep?” Mycroft questions, against his better judgement and when John bites his lip, he can’t stop himself from stepping closer to the doctor, their bodies merely centimeters away from touching. “Or something else?”

John’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and Mycroft can actually feel his sanity leaving the building. The blonde closes the distance between them, placing a hand on the nape of his neck and Mycroft is lost. “What do you want?”

“It’s a bad idea,” the older male whispers, his voice quivering, eyes now closed. “A very bad idea.”

“Yes,” John agrees simply, his lips ghosting over Mycroft’s in the most tantalizing way. It’s simply too much to resist and so Mycroft finds himself kissing his brother’s flatmate (and best friend and God-knows-what-else)

He’s just signed his death sentence, hasn’t he?

* * *

 

This second kiss is even messier than the first one and what follows, is even a bigger mess. There’s no delicacy on the way they pull at each other’s clothes and Mycroft suspects his shirt is beyond salvation by the time he finally manages to take it off, but he can’t bring himself to care. There’s no sweetness or romance in the way they grind against each other and there are points when the whole thing is more painful than pleasurable, but-

There are simply no words to describe it, really. The experience is out of this world, no doubt, and once it’s over, he becomes convinced he’ll never recover from it. His body feels weightless and his heart is beating erratically inside his chest, making him light headed.

He remains sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to get his breath back. He can feel John’s own breathing against his neck, as the shorter man tries to recover from their encounter too. They’re not even completely undressed and yet, it feels-

John makes a soft noise that seems a frustrated groan and stands up. Mycroft watches him in silence, waiting for what he’s certain will be a cold dismissal, but the doctor doesn’t say a word, simply moving to sit next to him. For the longest time, they remain like that, time apparently frozen around them. It’s pleasant, yes, but also a bit overwhelming.

“That was a spectacularly bad idea,” John murmurs finally. “And yet, I can’t find it within myself to regret it.”

Mycroft hums in acknowledgement, agreeing with the statement. “It doesn’t have to change anything,” he finds himself saying, even if deep down he’s hoping-

John laughs humorlessly, “damn right it won’t change a thing.” He stands up, to go looking for his undergarments, not once turning to look at his companion. “You can stay in my room tonight. I- I need to keep an eye on Sherlock in case-” he gestures vaguely, his eyes fixed on the door that leads to the younger Holmes’ room. “Yeah, I’ll take the couch.”

“John-”

“Goodnight, Mycroft.”

Mycroft didn’t get as far as he is by not knowing when to take a hint, so he nods stiffly, ignoring the way his (allegedly non existent) heart feels like it’s breaking and stands up, picking up his clothes from where they landed around the room. Once he has them all, he turns once more to face John, who is watching him in silence, biting his lip viciously. “Goodnight, John.”

He thinks he ought to leave the apartment and forgo John’s offer to take his bed tonight, but, being the masochist that he is, he simply takes the stairs that lead to the second bedroom, all the while trying to gather what’s left of his dignity around himself.

A very bad idea indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? They're really bad at this romance thing, aren't they? And I'm a bit evil so there's that too ;)  
> Did it make sense? I'm not entirely sure, but that's the way the story wanted to go and so… well…  
> Let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!


	12. Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so SO sorry about the late update! The week has been pretty hectic and I have like a thousand things to do, but well… I managed. It might be a little on the boring side but well… hopefully is not terribly dull?  
> Enjoy?

There are certain sights younger siblings should be spared of ever witnessing. Sherlock does know his brother has a sex life, but he has never before been forced to witness any proof of it.

Until this morning, that is.

He holds back a groan as his eyes land on his flatmate, who is looking distinctly uncomfortable. He frowns a bit, wondering why that might be. He probably knows Sherlock has already deduced what happened the night before between him and his brother and while that might be making him feel awkward, he doesn't think that's the issue.

His brother starts telling him something about the case, that apparently is no longer  _ his  _ case, in an evident effort to distract him from his current line of thought. He allows it for now, quickly deciding that discussing this…  _ subject  _ with John will be slightly less potentially traumatic.

God, sometimes he really wishes he wasn't so observant. He's going to have to burn that couch, isn't he? But it’s such a nice couch, really! Maybe just change the upholstery. That would be an acceptable compromise, wouldn't it?

God, why did they have to do it on his bloody couch?!

Mycroft finally leaves and while John relaxes a bit, his shoulders retain some of the tension. Sherlock serves himself more tea, silently contemplating the merits of just broaching the subject. John is eying him from the corner of his eye, wary, looking ready to bolt.

“Did it have to be on the couch?” he asks, hoping a bit of humor will get John to relax. His friend huffs, a rueful smile making its way to his face.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs softly.

Sherlock shrugs, gathering his courage. “Was it… unsatisfactory?” he's aware he's blushing madly, but so is John, so he figures it really doesn't matter.

“Sherlock!” his friend sputters indignantly, his cheeks acquiring an alarming shade of red.  “You don't- that's not-"

So sex was satisfying and yet, they were awkward around each other . Sherlock has little experience with the subject, of course, but he's been lead to believe-

An incoming text puts a premature end to their talk. John turns to him, utterly baffled and so Sherlock stands up in a hurry, cursing The Woman’s love of dramatics.

Really, what has his life come to?

* * *

 

They’re in the middle of a crime scene when his phone rings. Sherlock rolls his eyes and carries on with his monologue of how the victim was murdered, blind to the disgusted look he’s getting from Donovan or the surprised /jealous look on Lestrade’s face.

When he finally looks up, John has a hand covering half of his face and is shaking his head in despair. He frowns, wondering what his friend is going on about. “What?” he demands a bit harshly, earning himself a roll of eyes from the doctor.

“Why haven’t you changed your ringtone?” John asks, trying to keep his tone even, though it’s evident he’s frustrated. Sherlock frowns, taking out his phone and looking through The Woman’s new series of texts. Once more he rolls his eyes and slips his phone back into his pocket.

“What’s the point?” he counters calmly. “Easier to identify when it’s something important.”

John huffs and stomps away, leaving Sherlock feeling puzzled. As far as he knows, sex is supposed to make people  _ happier  _ but ever since John and Mycroft had sex, his friend has been in a very dark mood.

“What was that about?” Greg asks, as they both watch John walk under the police tape. Sherlock’s frown deepens, unsure of what he’s supposed to do in these circumstances.

“I’m not sure,” he confesses honestly. “It’s been a bit of a weird week.” Lestrade scoffs, shaking his head and looking amused and so Sherlock carries on, “I think he doesn’t approve of The Woman’s… attempts of flirting? I’m not even sure that’s what she’s doing, though John seems to think-”

“The Woman?” the DI questions, his tone betraying a tad of jealousy and Sherlock can’t help to smirk a bit.

“A dominatrix my brother introduced me to. Well, I say he introduced us but-” he gestures vaguely and Lestrade looks strangely worried. Sherlock frowns, unsure of what he said to get that reaction. “Also, John and my brother had sex and apparently, that made things awkward between them. And between us, although I’m not sure why- Lestrade?”

The man is staring at him open mouthed, looking completely horrified now. Sherlock just stares at him, going through what he just said, looking for what seems to be so horrifying.

“Your brother and John- they- what? How-?”

“Really, Lestrade?” Sherlock asks, now feeling a bit wary due the DI’s strange reaction. “While the mechanics between two men might not be the same than the ones between a man and a woman, I’d assume that since you were married-”

“God, not that!” Lestrade exclaims, making a face. “I just- I meant- You and John- umm- how- how are you feeling about that?”

Sherlock turns fully towards him, a mighty frown on his face. How does he feel about it? Well, he’s a bit frustrated because John has been in a mighty sulky mood lately and has been absolutely of zero use rewarding cases or helping Sherlock figure out an actual plan to make a move on Lestrade but-

On the plus side, Mycroft hasn’t been hovering around the flat half as much (or at least he’s attempting to stay well out of view) and that’s always a good thing on Sherlock’s books.

So, how is he feeling about that?

He shrugs, non committedly and Lestrade looks unconvinced. He opens his mouth to say something, but just then Donovan decides it’s a good moment to call for her boss and so the DI settles for patting Sherlock’s shoulder. “Just- If you need anything or you want to talk- you have my number, yes?”

Sherlock is about to reply when his phone rings once more. He sighs, rolling his eyes for what feels like the millionth time and turns around, leaving the crime scene with his usual dramatics.

Busy as he is checking The Woman’s text, he fails to notice Lestrade’s worried (and perhaps a tad hopeful, although also a bit guilty) look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? Perhaps a tad short but well… don’t you love how bloody oblivious they are?  
> We’ll be seeing what was going through Greg’s head in that last scene and also the Christmas scene in the next chapter so… stay tuned! ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	13. Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! A little longer than the previous one, although there’s not much happening and it didn’t turn as… romantic? as I was thinking but well…  
> Enjoy?

It's been a rather pleasant day at work, with no horrifying murders to solve and no old paperwork to fill, so Greg is on a rather cheerful mood when he finally makes his way back home.

That changes the minute he opens the door to his apartment.

“Well, isn't this a surprise?” his wife (ex wife?) exclaims from her place on the couch Greg has just bought. “Isn't it a bit early for you to be home? Or have you finally quit your farce of having to work late?”

“What are you doing here?” he questions darkly, berating himself for not changing the lock sooner. He has been telling himself he’ll do it  _ tomorrow _ for weeks and now-

She shrugs, looking at anything but Greg. “ I just- I wanted to see you.”

Greg scoffs. “Like hell you did. What are you  _ really  _ doing here?”

The female sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “Look I- I know I messed up. And I don't- I don't really expect you to forgive me but- I just- I was just wondering if maybe we could- give it another try?”

Greg stares at her for the longest time, incapable of even  _ thinking _ of something to say. After everything- it just doesn't make sense-

“I don't think that's a good idea,” he says hesitantly, hating how nervous and unsure he feels. He had thought-

“Look, Greg,” she tells him in her most  _ reasonable  _ tone, the one that seems to imply she's right and he’s wrong and that he's a fool for believing otherwise, and why is he attracted to people like this? Of course Sherlock is actually usually right, but-

“- it just makes sense,” his wife finishes, crossing her arms in front of her chest and that's when he notices she's been talking the whole time while he got lost on his full of self-pity thoughts.

He sighs, knowing better than to argue. He suddenly feels too old and too tired to care. “You know what? Whatever. I don't care,” he says and with that he's out of the flat once more, with every intention of heading back to work.

There's something seriously wrong with him.

* * *

 

“I honestly had a higher opinion of you, Graham,” Sherlock all but snarls the next time they see each other and the DI simply sighs.

“What was I supposed to do, Sherlock?” he questions defeatedly. “Kick her out to the street?”

Sherlock’s expression suggests that's exactly what he thinks he ought to do. Secretly, Greg agrees, especially considering the hellish week he has had.

He doesn't say that, though. “We all can't be like you,” he whispers tiredly.

“No,” Sherlock agrees softly, “I suppose not.”

* * *

 

After yet another fight with The Wife, he's thankful for the chance to leave the house on his own. Christmas at Sherlock’s doesn't sound like a lot of fun, to be honest, but anything is better than another night full of recriminations.

Sherlock seems to be on a thoughtful mood, playing his violin and John seems to have found himself another girlfriend and so Greg is pretty much on his own. Not that that’s a bad thing really, particularly considering how his last talk with the consulting detective went, but-

Molly’s arrival puts a stop to his brooding thoughts, his attention quickly grabbed by the way she looks. She’s always- she’s so shy and awkward, but she's very pretty, now that he thinks about it. Smart too. Pretty reasonable, he thinks. Why can't he fall for a girl like her, really?

But then, she's quite infatuated with Sherlock so she obviously has issues picking the right partners too.

And then Sherlock is saying something, in full deduction mood, embarrassing the poor girl and dragging Greg through the mud too, because why not? and then-

Then there's a text and Sherlock is gone before anyone can utter a single word.

All for the best, really.

* * *

 

“I can't do this again,” he announces as soon as he walks back into his flat. His wife looks up from the book she's reading, a light frown on his face.

“Wha-?” she begins, but something in his expression gives her pause. She observes him in silence, finally letting out a tired sigh. “He told you, then?”

“I’ve never needed Sherlock to point out your infidelities,” he says darkly. “But I’m done. For real, this time.”

She nods stiffly. “Alright. I’ll be gone before New Year, alright?” she stands up, heading towards the bedroom. Greg sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He should have done this ages ago, but-

Well. Better late than never, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? Chapters running from Greg’s POV are always… complicated. I can't focus much on the romance and the pining because the man has a lot of issues to work out first but well… it's coming along, isn't it?  
> I’m a little lost about where this is heading. I don't really want to get into the mess of the Fall but well… I really don't know what to write now. Suggestions?  
> Anyway, thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


	14. Fanciful thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so SO sorry about the late update! I was hoping for this to be a bit longer, but I think the next scene I have planned out would work better from John’s POV and so… well.  
> In case this is a bit confusing, the first scene is supposed to take place after Sherlock’s visit to the morgue to identify Irene’s body.  
> So, enjoy?

Well, that was-

He’s not sure what that was.

As he watches his younger brother leave the morgue, Mycroft can’t help to worry a little. Sherlock has never been too good at dealing with emotions and whatever he’s feeling due Irene Adler’s passing- well, he’s not sure he’ll cope with it in the best way.

Which is why he finds himself pulling his phone out of his coat and calling the man he swore to himself he wouldn’t call again: considering how things…  _ ended  _ last time between them, he had thought better to keep some distance from John Watson, but, as it happens, their lives are a little too entwined for that to truly work out.

Not that it matters much, though. He’s determined to keep his distance this time; keep things professional so to speak: John is his brother’s- friend? caretaker? a weird mixture of both? and so it won’t do to be on bad terms with him, particularly considering how  _ difficult  _ Sherlock can get.

So he makes a call and if his heartbeat speeds up a little-

Well, no one needs to know.

* * *

 

John’s half attempt to defend his plans for the night is more hilarious than anything else. His whole pretense of dating is ridiculous: the man would drop anything (quite literally, Mycroft is sure) for Sherlock. He’s actually a bit surprised that their little…  _ indiscretion  _ didn’t prompt a row of epic proportions that ended up in love declarations. It’s all there and anyone can see it, so why-?

He shakes his head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. Sherlock is, and always has been, his top priority. If his brother is happy, what do Mycroft’s own feelings matter? If John can make him happy-

But he must admit he had been entertaining fanciful notions. With Detective Inspector Lestrade finally single, he had assumed his brother would make an actual move, always assuming his affections truly remained unswayed. Although he hadn’t believe that was the case, he had hoped-

Hope. God, how…  _ pedestrian. _

He doesn’t hope for anything; he analyzes the cold hard facts and draws conclusions from them. To allow himself silly daydreams- well, as it has already been proved, it won’t end well for him.

And in any case, his hopes had been cruelly crushed after Mrs. Lestrade made a reappearance. One must question the DI’s sanity and intelligence, when he’s so willing to give the woman yet another chance. People don’t change, not really, and they particularly don’t change when they believe there’s no reason to.

That marriage will end in a disaster, but it’s not really his place to interfere, is it? 

Still, Sherlock- Sherlock cares. He suspects his brother brooding mood has less to do with Irene Adler’s death and more to do with his…  _ disappointment  _ at the DI’s lack of backbone. And maybe he’s also a bit upset about Mycroft’s…  _ mistake. _

Which of course brings him back to the subject of John Watson.

It’s no use going down that road; it has already been proved that whatever the doctor might…  _ feel  _ is not enough for him to want to pursue a relationship with Mycroft and that’s- that’s fine, really. He’s not one to pine silently and pathetically, so really-

He ought to forget the matter entirely. Erase it from his memory, no matter how pleasant it had been. He should- he should find other fantasies to…  _ take care of business  _ when the need arises and simply forget.

Easier said than done, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I know it’s terribly short, but I hope I’ll get in the mood to write more of this real soon. I got distracted by another of my fics ideas and well… I’m sorry. But hopefully now that I’m back at working I’ll manage slightly more steady updates, although I promise nothing seeing my boss actually expects me to work…  
> Anyway, thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought! I do believe this is getting a bit frustrating, so hopefully everyone will stop being so dense and start taking steps in the right direction ;)


	15. Drunken mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It didn’t take me quite as much, did it? ;)  
> Anyway, this one is actually longer (or so I think) and hopefully… enjoyable? Even if, as usual, my ideas ran away from me…

Sherlock is a surprisingly dark mood, although to assert the reasons behind it is a bit complicated. John’s instincts insist that it can be Irene Adler’s death: they met the woman for less that a couple of hours, so really, there’s no reason for Sherlock to be so heartbroken.

He watches Sherlock go into his bedroom and he wonders if he ought to make an attempt to talk to him. The mere idea is risible, really. They’ve never been the  _ talking about their feelings  _ sort, most of their conversations not being such thing at all. They understand each other quite well, so words seem a bit superfluous and in matters like this…

Well, John knows that privacy is important.

So he stays where he is, contemplating the merits of having another drink. He had been hoping to get a leg over tonight, but that’s obviously not happening. Not that it matters, really: although he’s been dating quite a bit, ever since his…  _ whatever  _ with Mycroft Holmes, he has found difficult to be interested in anyone else.

He leans back on his seat, closing his eyes. He remembers that night clearly, although it probably would be better if he forgot about it altogether. He has already established he  _ likes  _ the older Holmes, but he’s nowhere near suicidal enough to pursue a relationship with him. That road will end in nothing but tragedy.

He thinks of Sherlock and his own desperate situation. The poor man has been pining silently for years, the object of his affections completely oblivious to his feelings. To be fair, Sherlock is a bit of an ass to Greg, so it’s completely justified that the DI has failed to notice that Sherlock has been attempting to flirt all this years.

And really, a 30-something years old man should have better flirting techniques than pulling at his crush metaphorical pigtails.

He sighs, observing his still half full drink. He’s tired, to be honest, and the last thing he wants to do is to think about his lousy love life (or his flatmate’s, which is just as lousy) because that’ll lead him to do stupid things. Stupid things like-

He’s ringing Mycroft’s number before he even notices and once he does, he curses silently. He tells himself he ought to hang up and go to bed; it’s obvious he has had one too many drinks. But being the masochist he is, he remains where he is, listening to the phone ringing, praying both for the older male to pick up and for him to ignore the call.

“John? What happened?” Not such luck, apparently. But then, Mycroft is probably concerned about his little brother, so of course he picked up: he’s probably thinking something has happened to Sherlock.

“Nothing,” John answers truthfully, telling himself once more he ought to hang up. “But since you ruined my plans to get laid tonight, I figured you ought to make it up to me.”

Oh god, has he really said that aloud? What happened to his survival instinct? Not that he’s ever been particularly careful, but he used to have much more common sense than this. Provoking Mycroft Holmes is asking for all sort of  _ nasty  _ trouble.

“I see,” Mycroft says slowly, his tone a bit hesitant. “Have you been drinking, John?”

“Yep,” the former soldier answers easily, realizing with horror that he has, indeed, drink a little too much. “Another consequence of you having my plans for the night ruined.”

A tense silence follows and John takes another sip from his drink, figuring he might as well get completely wasted. “I’m sorry for that,” Mycroft murmurs finally, sounding actually contrite.

John snorts. “I would much rather have you make it up to me.”

“And how do you propose I do that, Dr. Watson?” the other male questions coldly, detachedly and John finds himself reaching for the whisky bottle. He’s truly suicidal, apparently.

“How do you imagine?” he asks, taking a long sip from the bottle. He might be death by this time tomorrow, so he feels any excess is justified.

“I don’t like the way this conversation is going, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft informs him very seriously. “I’m going to hang up now, before you say something you’ll regret later.”

Yes, that would probably be for the best. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, you know?” he blurts out, marveling at his own courage. Or his own stupidity, more likely. “The way you looked when you came- god, Mycroft, you’re gorgeous.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the line. “Dr. Watson, I really don’t think-”

“I want to have you again so much. Only, this time around, I want to actually undress you and kiss you all over. I know Sherlock teases you about your appearance, but I think you’re just downright gorgeous, Mycroft. I-”

“Dr. Watson, this isn’t-”

“Oh, stop it with the Dr. Watson already! I liked it much better when you were moaning my name-”

“John!” Mycroft exclaims, sounding slightly scandalized. “I don’t think-”

“I really, really want to see you again Mycroft. And have my way with you, of course. I haven’t been able to think of something else; that night was truly sublime. Do you think- do you think we could do it again, sometime?”

There’s another tense silence and finally, Mycroft sighs. “Call me tomorrow, John. If you- if you still want that then… then we’ll see.”

And with that he hangs up, leaving John feeling quite frustrated and angry at himself.

Just what the hell has he just done?

* * *

 

“I think you might have broken my brother,” Sherlock tells him a couple of days later, while John aggressively cooks them breakfast. “He sounds- broken.”

“You’ve talked to Mycroft? Out of your own volition?” John asks, ignoring his friend’s previous comment. Sherlock scrunches his nose in distaste, eying the breakfast warily.

“I have my own issues, John,” the consulting detective points out, sounding more worried than actually put off. Maybe a little frustrated too. “I really don’t need you breaking my brother on top of everything else.”

He actually sounds- serious. And worried. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock shrugs, picking up a piece of toast. “Just figure it out.” He heads back to the living room, picking up his violin and starting to play it. “I would hate for you to  _ tragically and mysteriously  _ disappear.”

John rolls his eyes, a fond smile on his lips despite how heavy his heart feels. “Of course, Sherlock. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

Sherlock’s only answer is to keep on playing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> This was supposed to be a bit smuttier and end on a happier note, but, as I’ve said, the idea ran away from me and well… I ended up with this.  
> Still, let me know what you thought?


	16. Melancholic thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Actually, I wrote this right after I finished the previous one, but I kept thinking I should include more things here… although I’m not sure what. I really really like Irene’s character and I feel I should be including more of her, but well- it just hasn’t worked out that way ;)  
> Anyway, enjoy?

All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.

Ha! If only his brother listened to his own advice.

Sherlock continues playing his violin, staring outside the window but not really seeing anything. He has been in a melancholic state, his thoughts running in circles ever since the  _ incident  _ at the morgue. It’s a pity, he thinks, a real tragedy that Ms. Adler is now dead, but nothing to do about that. Whatever she had- well, being a blackmailer isn’t really as lucrative as people seem to think.

But she was interesting and he’s sorry for her loss. It has reminded him of his own mortality and, for some reason and since everyone seems to think he was in love with her, it has also brought a pensive mood over Baker Street.

John treads around him carefully, as if he expects him to snap at any given second. Of the two of them, Sherlock thinks John is the most likely to explode, though. Something has happened with Mycroft (again) and although he doesn’t really want to get involved, his brother did sound- upset on the phone. Which, being Mycroft as he is, is quite telling.

He has his own concerns, of course. His own unrequited feelings are always present and although he has considered more than once to try to move on, he knows  it’s a fruitless effort. He has liked other people than Greg Lestrade, of course, but what he feels for the DI-

Well, he has a hard time trying to put it into words.

But the…  _ infuriating  _ man has taken his wife back and Sherlock curses having waited for so long. He should know better than to listen to John really; despite the man’s continued success on getting dates, he’s  obviously not qualified to give advice on actual love matters.

What is he supposed to do now?

He hears John talking to Mrs. Hudson and he rolls his eyes. Do they honestly believe he can’t hear them from here? Or that he just doesn’t care they’re gossiping about him? And really, doesn’t John know him better by now than to believe he could have fallen in love with someone he barely knew?

Women have never been his area, but even if they were, he’s not superficial enough to fall hard and quick for a pretty face. And she was smart and witty, of course, but- well, he guesses it all comes down to the fact that he has already handed his heart to someone else.

Of course that someone else hasn’t actually acknowledge the fact, but that’s not the point.

So he listens to John leaving and then he sees him getting into a stranger’s car and you would think he has learned his lesson about that, but of course he hasn’t. But then, maybe he’s actually hoping to see Mycroft and well-

Well, he might as well go on his friend’s rescue.

* * *

 

Ms. Adler isn’t as dead as he previously thought and that’s- good, he supposes. For her at least, although it’s pretty meaningless to him. But maybe now John will stop behaving like he’s made of glass and things will go back to normal.

Ha! A bit much of wishful thinking!

The brief- altercate with the CIA agents puts him on a better mood and calling Lestrade to arrest them might be a little selfish on his part, seeing the man is supposed to be on vacations but well… Sherlock has never claimed to be a particularly nice person.

The fact that, apparently, the wife is once more out of sight is just the proverbial icing on the proverbial cake.

God, what’s up with the metaphors lately? He used to be a little more… centered, he guesses. John has made a romantic out of him and probably without meaning to. The man needs to behave a little more logically, really. 

It would do wonders for his own situation, to be honest.

Nevertheless, silly metaphors apart, he’s quite pleased with this turn of events. He supposes he ought not to mention it just yet though; the situation is obviously far from ideal but later-

Yeah, later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? It’s shorter than the previous one but well… hopefully it’s enjoyable enough?  
> I still don’t know where I’m going with this. I keep getting stump at the idea of TRF, because I can’t have everyone being happy before that, can I? Or maybe I could and simply ignore TRF? Huh… that’s an idea.  
> Suggestions are highly welcome!  
> Thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been forever since I updated this and I’m so sorry! I got distracted by other fics (as I usually do) and I also had no clue what to do with the chapter running from Greg’s POV so…  
> Well, anyway, enough of my excuses. Enjoy?

Sherlock’s utter silence after the  _ incident  _ on New Year’s Eve has Greg slightly worried. Okay, maybe more than  _ slightly. Horribly worried  _ might be accurate.  _ Terrified  _ might be even more accurate, but he’s trying very hard not to panic: it’s obvious Sherlock and John had gotten involved into some crazy scheme involving the secret service and what-not, but he wants to believe both are smart enough to not have ended up dead in some ditch.

And in any case, Mycroft would have came up with something if things had taken an especially ugly turn, wouldn’t he?

Yes, probably. Still-

With a sigh, he grabs his keys and tells Donovan he’s going out. The woman looks at him curiously, but doesn’t ask and for that Greg is eternally grateful: he really doesn’t want to explain where he’s going and why he thinks he should.

She wouldn’t understand, anyway.

* * *

 

The weather is still dreadfully cold, but Greg barely notices, too lost in his own thoughts. Now that he’s standing outside Baker Street he’s feeling a bit silly and so he has hesitated to knock for the last 20 minutes. He knows he’s going to catch his dead in this awful cold but-

The door opens abruptly and Greg manages not to jump. Mrs. Hudson smiles kindly at him, as she usually does and ushers him upstairs, saying something about Sherlock being insufferable and John not helping one bit.

Greg sighs, thinking he really should have stayed out of this. In any case, Sherlock has John now, there’s no need for Greg to-

But he can’t help himself. His feelings might be unrequited, but he feels he still has an obligation to Sherlock, considering he’s his  _ friend.  _ Now is really not the time to be bitter or petty, although-

He finds Sherlock lying supine on the couch, an arm thrown dramatically over his face. John is reading the paper, or at least pretending to do so, the tension on his shoulders evident. Greg clears his throat awkwardly and Sherlock springs out of the couch, crossing the room in a couple of strides and grabbing Greg by the arms. “Lestrade!” he exclaims happily, his eyes shining and Greg finds himself gulping. “You’re here!” he looks so honestly pleased that Greg can’t help the little flutter of his heart, although he knows- “what do you have for me?”

Of course that’s what Sherlock’s enthusiasm is about. He offers him a small forced smile and shakes his head. “Nothing, really, I just- I was a bit worried about you, that’s all,” he feels incredibly awkward and the way Sherlock is staring at him isn’t helping one bit. “You’ve been too quiet these last few weeks.”

He can tell Sherlock and John have locked eyes and a whole silent conversation is going on between them. The doctor lets out what seems an amused huff and Sherlock frowns, turning his attention back to Greg. “You haven’t given me a case,” the consulting detective says, a bit accusingly, but mostly wary. “Why should we be in contact?”

Greg’s heart drops to his feet and he can hear John making a frustrated noise behind him. Sherlock’s eyes dart to the other man and after a few more seconds of silent conversation, he turns back to Greg. “I merely meant- You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He looks… embarrassed, which is more than a little odd. Honest, though. “It’s fine,” Greg murmurs softly. “It’s just- you usually text me at least once a week to ask if I have something.”

Sherlock’s eyes are fixed on John once more and Greg wonders just what exactly are they discussing that seems so important. “I’ve been- I haven’t been at my best these past weeks,” Sherlock says slowly, looking almost pained. “I never take it well when someone beats me.”

“Someone beated you?” Greg can’t help asking and the taller man frowns darkly.

“In a sense, I suppose,” he says lowly, “although I did figure out the password in the end,” he adds, with a hint of smugness. Behind him, Greg can hear John huffing once more. “We’re not having that discussion again, John.”

“I said nothing,” the blond protests softly and it’s Sherlock’s turn to huff. Greg, feeling like a third wheel, decides it’s time to go, before he says or does something embarrasing.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. I should go,” he announces a tad too loudly, apparently startling Sherlock. The younger man stares at him for a beat, before nodding hesitantly.

“Of course,” he agrees, “if something comes up-”

“Yeah, I’ll call you.” Greg offers him a tight smile, before heading out of the flat. He can hear a rush of activity behind him, but he figures he really doesn’t want to know and so he hurries out of the building, the cold weather that greets him making him wonder if he ought to have stayed a little longer.

Looking upwards to find Sherlock at the window with John standing closely behind him has him deciding it was probably for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? It’s short, I know, but I’m hoping to get this story to the  _ romantic  _ part soon enough. I think I’m going to end this before TRF happens because… well, I really don’t know what to do with that. So we can all pretend that never happened and they just lived happily ever after :P
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!
> 
>  


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It didn’t take that long, did it?  
> Enjoy!

“You haven’t talked to my brother.”

John doesn’t bother to look up and continues pretending to read the morning paper. Sherlock makes an annoyed noise before gracefully dropping himself on the couch, a mighty pout on his lips. While John is curious as what exactly prompted this “conversation”, he knows better than to ask.

“You dare to lecture on mixed signals and yet look at yourself!” Sherlock exclaims after what feels like an eternity, sitting up and waving his hands dramatically. “It’s plain crazy, that’s what it is.”

Ah, so this is about Sherlock. As usual.

“You called Greg last night?”

Sherlock huffs, lying down once more, looking for all intents and purposes like a sulking toddler. “So what if I did?” he mutters angrily and without waiting for John to answer he launches himself on a speech about  _ mixed signals  _ and people thinking he only cares about  _ The Work. _

“Well, you did tell me you were married to your work right after we met,” John points out reasonably. “I’m fairly certain you’ve said something along those lines to Greg too.”

“Yeah, but can’t he see I would be willing to make an exception for him?”

“Why would he think such thing?” John asks, putting the paper away so he can look at his friend directly. “You’ve known each other for  _ years  _ Sherlock. And you never made your interest known- And no, those pigtails pulling don’t count!”

Sherlock sulks harder. “He was  _ married,”  _ he hisses darkly. “And when that  _ horrible  _ woman finally left him, you told me it wasn’t the right moment to make a move!”

“Well, no, because your idea of a  _ move  _ is to drop yourself naked on someone’s lap,” John says and the taller man rolls his eyes dramatically. “Or something just as bold, probably.”

Sherlock shrugs. “No way to mistake my intentions then, is it?”

Well, he does have a fair point. “Listen, if it makes you feel better- we’re going out for drinks tonight. Come with us, have a couple of drinks with us and then I’ll be happy to leave you two alone.”

Sherlock sits up again, interested by the idea. “Will you call my brother then?”

John groans. “It’s your love life the one on the line. I honestly-”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock scoffs once more. “After your-  _ coffee  _ when he came by to let me know about The Woman, you were so ridiculously  _ giddy  _ it took every bit of my self control not to puke. Really, it’s nauseating how much of a lovesick puppy you are.”

John glares, picking up his paper again. “Go get dressed. We’re leaving in a hour.”

Sherlock scoffs but doesn’t argue and goes to get changed. John watches him go from the top of his paper and sighs once his friend is in his room, contemplating the idea of pulling out his phone and making a call.

But no, that wouldn’t be a good idea.

No good at all.

* * *

 

Their night of drinks gets interrupted just one beer in when Greg gets a call from work. While Sherlock is eager to tag along for a crime scene, the DI puts his foot down and insists he has it under control.

Sherlock sulks for the following week.

John considers calling once more.

At least one of them should get to be happy, shouldn’t they?

* * *

 

The Baskerville case is godsend. A few days in the country, away from London and distracted from their frankly horrible love lives is exactly what they both need.

Of course then Sherlock has to infiltrate a military base using his brother’s credentials and so almost landing them in a world of trouble. They’re lucky they manage to escape unscratched and John makes his opinion thoroughly known, but with everything that happens afterwards- well. 

On the bright side, the case is truly distracting.

On the downside… well.

It might not have been his best idea so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I think we only have 4 more chapters to go after this. I’ve decided I’m going to pretend TRF never happens or at least ends this before that whole mess starts because… well, this is supposed to be a silly funny fic, damnit!  
> Also, I’m no longer respecting the POV’s order I’ve been following so far. Mostly because it flows better that way :P  
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… on the bright side, this fic is finished.  
> On the not so bright side… I’m worried of how much sense it makes.  
> Enjoy?

“You want me to interrupt your brother’s romantic holiday.”

Mycroft pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance and if Greg had slightly more presence of mind, he would notice now is really not the time to press his luck. However, he’s tired and irritable: his vacations didn’t go as well as he had expected and now he’s even more tired and frustrated than he was when it all started.

The fact that Mycroft Holmes came knocking at 2 o’clock in the bloody morning certainly isn’t helping.

“It’s not a  _ romantic holiday,” _ Mycroft argues darkly. “They’re working on a case. What part of they  _ infiltrated a highly secure military base  _ did you miss?” He’s glaring now and that would make lesser men run for the hills, but Greg hasn’t dealt with Holmeses for the last decade without learning something.

“Knowing your brother, that’s his version of romance,” Greg protests and while Mycroft opens his mouth to argue, he snaps it shut almost as quickly, a mighty scowl on his face. There’s also something else lurking in his eyes that Greg would classify as sadness and longing, but the mere idea is ridiculous and nonsensical, so-

Except that Sherlock mentioned his brother and John slept together. Could it be that there’s something going on between them?

But then, John and Sherlock-

“Are you and John… involved?” he finds himself blurting out and Mycroft’s mighty glare makes him question his sanity, but the other man deflates quickly, turning to stare at nothing in particular.

“No,” Mycroft answers finally and he definitely sounds upset about it. “Will you go?”

Greg sighs, knowing he’s going to agree. If nothing else, it’ll keep him away from his desk for a few days and hopefully it’ll be more entertaining that the mountain of paperwork waiting for him at the office.

“Alright,” he agrees finally. “I’ll go.”

Mycroft just nods curtly and leaves so quickly that if he wasn’t quite as familiar with the man as he is, Greg would be left wondering if it all was an hallucination.

With a sigh, he closes the door and heads into his bedroom.

He has some packing to do.

* * *

 

Sherlock doesn’t look exactly pleased at his sudden appearance, but Greg decides not to take it personally. The younger man has never taken it kindly when his brother decides to get involved into his business and so it’s perfectly natural for him to be annoyed.

The case however does seem promising and so Greg is happy to help in whatever way he can. He also takes the opportunity to examine John’s and Sherlock’s interactions closely: he’s been working under the assumption that there’s something going on between them, but now he’s wondering if he just arrived to the wrong conclusion. Of course it’s possible Mycroft has a case of unrequited love just as bad as his own, but the older Holmes doesn’t strike him as the kind of man who would silently pine after someone so completely unattainable.

Particularly if his brother was involved in some way.

Still, it would be foolish to assume that just because Sherlock isn’t in love with John, he’d be interested in pursuing something with Greg. They have, after all, known each other for a long while and the consulting detective has never shown any signs of being even remotely interested, but maybe- maybe-

Well. It’s foolish to hope, but Greg thinks it might be time for him to take a risk: Sherlock might reject him either way, but at least he’ll finally know for sure. No more wondering and foolishly hoping and it might help him to finally move on.

It sounds perfectly reasonable.

At least it does in his head.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, their busy schedule for the rest of day keeps Greg from saying something. And after the- thing with the Hound and the murderer and conspirations and what-not, he figures it’s really not the best time for a love confession.

Although- this is Sherlock we’re talking about.

As he watches John and Sherlock head into their room, both arguing about one thing or another, he wonders if he’s just looking for excuses. The two friends’ conversation seems pretty innocent on the surface, but they’re indeed sharing a room and surely that means something?

He goes into his own room and considers his options. Maybe this whole- maybe he’s seeing too much into his brief conversation with Mycroft. It’s not- he has never actually thought-

And yet-

He sends a text to Mycroft to let him know how things worked out and lays in bed, thinking. The place is oddly quiet and after all the excitement of the evening, he doubts he’s going to get much sleep.

With that thought in mind he stands up and decides to go for a walk.

If nothing else, it might help him clear his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> Does it feel rushed? Like horribly rushed? I had the firm purpose of finishing every single WIP before the month was over, but I worry it seems a little out of nowhere. Considering the snail pace we were having here… I’m not sure if it makes any sense.  
> Please let me know what you thought?


	20. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Just one more after this…  
> Enjoy?

“Lestrade is outside.”

John hums from his place on the bed, gaze fixed on his phone, frowning lightly. Sherlock watches him in silence for a beat and quickly deduces he really doesn’t want to know what he’s thinking. His tense posture is a dead give away of who is he talking to and Sherlock refuses to get any more involved in his brother’s love life.

If both John and Mycroft are going to be impossible about it, he wants nothing to do with it.

He continues watching Lestrade, standing outside the hotel, toying with a cigarette. He knows the DI has attempted to stop smoking, but it hasn’t worked out that well. With the stress of the job and of the cheating wife, Sherlock isn’t exactly surprised.

Should he go outside and keep the other man company? That would be alright, wouldn’t it? They’re friends (in a way) afterall, so surely he’s allowed to... worry about the other.

A quick glance in John’s direction has him making up his mind. He might not be an expert in relationships, but considering the mess John has made of his own relationships and his  _ whatever  _ with Mycroft, he thinks he might be slightly better off following his gut instead of his friend’s advice.

With that thought in mind, he hurries outside.

* * *

 

Lestrade watches him approach in silence and puts away his cigarette, for which Sherlock is thankful. The compulsion to smoke is still strong, particularly when he’s out of things to occupy his mind with.

Although, to be completely honest, his mind isn’t exactly blank at the moment.

They stand in silence for a long while. The air feels… tense, somewhat, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable. He can feel his heart beating perhaps a tad too quickly, but the feeling isn’t unpleasant.

Far from it, actually.

“So… did John kick you out of the room?” Lestrade asks after what feels like a lifetime and Sherlock’s lips curve upwards for a beat. He looks up, to find the light from their bedroom turn off and he wonders if John is lurking in the dark, watching them.

“He might as well have,” Sherlock murmurs quietly. “There’s only so much pining a man can stand.”

“Oh,” Lestrade says softly, sounding- weird. “Is he- umm- I wasn’t aware he was seeing someone.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Sherlock says with distaste. “Nor he, nor my brother will actually  _ make a bloody move  _ and it’s driving me insane.” Another soft  _ oh  _ and Sherlock isn’t sure what Lestrade’s look means, but- “You would think that after sleeping together, they would figure it out. They do seem smarter than that.”

Lestrade makes a noncommittal sound. “Aren’t you- upset about that?”

“About what?” Sherlock questions, honestly curious. “I mean, I did need to have that couch upholstery redone, but-”

“No, no. I mean… umm... aren’t you and John… umm…”

Sherlock tilts his head, officially confused. “Admittedly, I’m not keen on the idea of my brother sleeping with my best friend, mostly because there are certain things little brothers shouldn’t be forced to find out, but- well, I suppose that as long as they keep it at Mycroft’s place and John takes a few showers before coming back home… oh, and that there’s no physical evidence left where I can actually see it-”

“No, no!” Lestrade interrupts him. “I meant- aren’t you and John… you know… aren’t you in love with John?”

Sherlock blinks once as his brain shuts down. That’s the single most idiotic thing he has ever heard. That’s- that’s simply- “What?!” he exclaims finally, once he recovers himself enough to answer.

Lestrade looks away sheepishly. “Well, you have to admit you two are pretty close-”

“Well, yes, but we’re  _ flatmates, _ ” Sherlock stresses. “It’s not- we’re not- where did you get that idea?”

The DI shrugs, avoiding his eyes. Sherlock makes a face, not liking the idea one bit. He then notices Lestrade looks relieved and that makes his heartbeat pick up. “It wouldn’t work out, anyway. Not with John and his…  _ crush  _ on Mycroft and my own…  _ feelings  _ for someone else.”

“Oh,” the older man says, sounding dejected and Sherlock’s heart is beating so fast it’s actually painful. Could it be-? 

Is it really that simple?

“You are daft,” he murmurs with a roll of his eyes. “But then, I’ve always known that.”

“What?”

“I’m talking about you, Lestrade.”

For a beat, there’s no other sound but their breathing. Sherlock can feel his heart attempting to escape his chest and his lungs feel like they’re not getting enough air. He feels dizzy and not necessarily in a good way.

“What?” Lestrade repeats once more and Sherlock growls in frustration, pulling the man by the lapels of his jacket and pressing his lips firmly against the other’s.

That should get his message across, shouldn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They kissed! Finally!  
> Does it seem a little out of the blue, though? I’m a fan of quick resolves to silly misunderstandings, but well… I worry how these last few chapters work with the others, since as I’ve said before, we were moving at snail pace…  
> Thoughts anyone?  
> Thanks for reading!


	21. More than a crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to an end. I might write an epilogue someday, but I don’t think that’ll be happening soon since I’m a little out of inspiration for this particular story… but we’ll see ;)  
> Enjoy?

“I feel like it’s my brotherly duty to inform you I’m not even remotely in love with John Watson.”

Mycroft blinks, wondering where that confession is coming from. He looks at his phone, blinking once more and making sure that yes, it is indeed his brother the one calling, being as blunt as ever. “Alright?”

On the other side of the line, Sherlock groans. “God, you’re dull!” his brother exclaims. “Whatever made you think, even for a second, that there was something going on between us? Really, Mycroft?”

Mycroft sighs, his brain still shut down. It’s far too early in the morning to be dealing with this. 

“Sherlock, I really-”

“Is that why you haven’t made a move on John? You’re being all noble and sacrificing yourself so I can- god, I can’t even say out loud!”

Yes, far too early for this.

“Sherlock-”

“I really don’t care for your excuses,” his brother interrupts him sharply. “I’ll be giving John a piece of my mind too, worry not, but I really think-”

There’s some muffled sound and Sherlock squeaks. Mycroft frowns, wondering what’s the meaning of that and even more baffled when he hears his brother laughing softly. “Really Greg- just- A second.” Mycroft arches an eyebrow, wondering if his baby brother and his detective have finally figured it out. “So, where was I?”

“Don’t you have an actual boyfriend to get back to now?” he questions lightly, slightly amused, but still too sleepy to pay much mind to anything happening. He can practically see his brother’s eye roll, along with his annoyed huff.

“Yes,” Sherlock utters darkly. “Unlike you, I’ve actually managed to talk things through. So, since I’m the one with a functional relationship now-” Mycroft would protest at that, because a relationship that it’s barely a few hours old can not be called functional, he doesn’t think, but Sherlock carries on before he can even open his mouth, “call John.”

And with that he hangs up. Mycroft stares at his phone, thinking of the merits of heading his brother’s advice.

With a huff, he drops the phone on the night table and rolls onto his side once more, determinedly closing his eyes and deciding he’s not going to worry about it right now.

Perhaps in a few hours, at a most reasonable hour.

But not now.

* * *

 

In the light of the day, his brother’s advice seems ridiculous.

He’s happy for Sherlock, of course and a part of him is hopeful that now that his brother is involved with his beloved DI, he might actually have a shot with John, but Mycroft is a man of reason and facts and he’s not about to do something foolish like confessing his undying love over the phone.

He’s not even sure that’s what he feels, after all. He knows he likes John and of course he’s attracted to him and that little…  _ indiscretion  _ of them remains the best sexual encounter he has had in years, but that’s not the base of a good relationship.

Still, if he was going to take a chance-

God. Why is it so bloody confusing?

His phone rings, startling him out his reverie. The fact that it’s a text and not an actual call has him rolling his eyes, wondering why Lestrade isn’t keeping his brother entertained enough to stop him from attempting to contact him again.

As it turns out, the text isn’t from Sherlock, but from John. He can immediately feel his heartbeat picking up speed and he tells himself to stop being silly. Just because his brother said- there’s really nothing that suggests-

_ Would you like to come over? Sherlock’s staying at Greg’s tonight. _

That’s far more information than an older brother ever needs. And yet, he supposes it’s really not important.

He bites his lip, hesitating. Relationships aren’t his forte and he has never particularly cared to fill that particular gap of knowledge but-

_ Eight o’clock? _

He taps his fingers against his desk, wondering why is he willingly letting himself be drag into this madness. It could cost him everything he’s ever work for, it goes against everything he believes into, and yet-

_ Perfect. _

Well, he might as well take a leap of fate.

It is, after all, more than a simple  _ crush. _

It’s a chance for love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I still worry the ending seems a little out of nowhere, despite having told otherwise several times ;) I’m a worrier, so there’s that and also… well. It took me forever to finish this story and I’d really hate to think it didn’t live up to people’s standards.  
> Thanks for reading! As usual, it’s been a joy to work on this and get to share it with you guys! I appreciate all the love and support, a million thanks for taking your time to read ;)  
> “See” you around!

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out! Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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